Emerald Isle (27 page)

Traveling from the Academy in Kildare to the Hill of Tara, Birdie couldn’t help but recall the class trip she had taken there as a young girl. She stole a glance at her granddaughter, who was gazing out the window, her leg rattling nervously.

She had always hoped that she would be the one to escort Anastasia to this sacred site. She just never imagined that it would happen under these circumstances. She wondered if they should have at least liberated the locket from the vest of the girl’s familiar. Would it have grounded her? Washed away the jitters that seemed to be overtaking her now?

No use worrying about it, she decided.

Ethan’s steady hands guided the car through the rich landscape, expertly manipulating the wheel to avoid a flock of sheep that had spilled onto the road. The air was calm in Meath. Almost too calm, Birdie thought. She couldn’t wait for this excursion to be over.

When the car finally hummed to a stop, Birdie stepped out, drinking in the scenery. There was a souvenir shop that
hadn’t been there when she had last set foot on this land, a closed sign banging over the rickety door. She spotted a few benches, a few new fence posts, and recently planted shrubbery, but other than that, Tara remained the same.

It felt like home.

Anastasia said a few words to Ethan and joined Birdie next to the car. They walked together in silence, toward the Stone of Destiny.

When they reached the engorged roots of the ancient oak that guarded the cemetery, Birdie stopped short. She stiffened. She could hear ghostly laughter, taunting, coming from the tree where Tallulah had ripped the spell from Birdie’s first book many years ago. Up above, the branch that had caught the page dangled, beckoning the old witch to step closer.

Anastasia shifted uncomfortably next to her.

Birdie said, “I’m all right. I’m just…remembering something.”

“We should go, Birdie. We don’t have much time.”

The girl tugged on her sleeve.

“One moment.”

Birdie stepped closer to the tree, and instantly a vision emerged of herself as a girl. Her full lip quivered, but Birdie’s young self tried to appear strong. Then a preteen Tabby’s head poked out from behind a headstone, holding Birdie’s work hostage. She was teasing Birdie, along with three other classmates, playing keep-away with her work.

And that hideous rhyme they were singing.
Brigit is a dimwit, a stupid twit.

It was the reason Birdie had adopted her nickname. Thinking about it now made her Geraghty blood boil. The
fact that the name she had been so very proud to carry had been ripped from her by a stupid childhood bully.

No, Birdie thought, Tabby hadn’t taken that from her. No one can hurt you without your permission. She had allowed it.

It was the last time she had allowed anyone to wield such power over her.

From behind her, Birdie heard a faint shout. “Girls, enough!”

She whipped her head around to see a hologram of a young woman approach the children of her vision.

Present-day Birdie smacked her head.
That’s right! The chaperone.
Birdie couldn’t recall her name, but she remembered what the compassionate woman had told her.

Stay true to yourself, my dear, and you’ll never go wrong
. She had lived her life by that motto. She hoped she had instilled that same value in her children and her grandchildren.

The older Birdie flicked her eyes to Anastasia for a moment. “I learned a lot here.” Then she glanced back at the veiled young woman approaching the childhood Tabby. She couldn’t quite make out her face, but she could see the determination. It emitted from her core, a fiery red wave of resolve. That’s when Birdie remembered what had happened next.

She looked at Anastasia. “You know, the only time I saw the Seeker’s locket…”

Suddenly, her granddaughter rushed forward, grabbed Birdie’s arm, and said, “We have to go.”

But it was too late. Thunder clapped in the sky, and a jolt surged from Anastasia to Birdie.

A flash, an image.

And she knew.

Of all the moments to stroll down memory lane. Geesh.

“Birdie, we have to go. Now,” I said again, as firmly as I could.

My grandmother swallowed hard, her green eyes cloudy. She nodded and led us up the hill toward the Stone of Destiny.

I was ever so grateful for that, but I could see it in her face. A recollection, or some distant memory, had just washed over her. I only hoped I wasn’t in it. Not because I feared what might happen if she knew, but because I feared what might not happen. I needed her strong, I needed the full power of my grandmother for what we were about to do. If there were any doubts in her mind, even a hint of haze about the person she was and how she got that way, well, let’s just say I knew from experience those nigglings piss off the fairies.

We trekked up the hill the short distance to the stone. Birdie seemed to shake off whatever had just come over her by the time we reached it.

“Stand back,” she instructed.

I did.

She took a deep breath, raised her long arms to the sky, and began moving her lips so rapidly, not only could I not make out what she was saying, but I wasn’t even sure she was speaking English.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Her voice grew louder with each passing second. The wind picked up velocity in tandem with her words.

“Cumhacht de an tulach…”

Definitely not English.

Her eyes were closed, her feet planted, and her arms flexed as she continued to chant to the heavens.

The sky cracked open, and a streak of lightning hit the stone just as she laid her hands on it. The bolt ricocheted off the rock, and I dove for cover, tumbling down the hill in a fast-paced spiral.

After a moment, the wind died down and I heard, “Anastasia?”

“I’m okay.”

She popped her head over the crest and said, “Quit fooling around. We have work to do.”

I pulled out my copy of the spell and studied my role on the drive from Tara, crunching on a granola bar Birdie had given me.

It was a watchtower call. I was to be east; Ivy, west; John, south; and Birdie, north. Each of us would weave a different chant, the idea being that our magic, the power of the gods, and the assistance of the ancestors would all link together to form a powerful pull that would call to the lost cauldron, requesting that the treasure reveal its hiding place.

On the way, we picked up John and Ivy from the train station. They both assured me there were no glitches in their treasure connections and they were ready to cast the spell.

We arrived at Fourknocks early in the evening. We left Ethan in the car, and I and the three other corners hiked to the top of the towering ancient mound the gods called the Hill of Summoning.

We clasped hands, each cloaked in a veil of grounding white light. Birdie gave the signal, and she began to chant first.

“Watchtowers of the north, come forth. May the gods come out to aid our course.”

Ivy was next. “Watchtowers of the west, send your best. May the ancestors assist us on this quest.”

John stepped forward. “Watchtowers of the south, come out. Cauldron, pave a path to your route.”

Then me. “Watchtowers of the east, all meet. Unite the magic in our hearts and below our feet.”

Instantly, the mound shook and shuddered, and a surge of electricity shot between our fingertips.

Birdie shouted, “Keep the flow going as it was written.”

We broke, still chanting, each of us moving backward step by step, first to the edge of the mound, and then, once there, we all turned to face the crest of our corner. I slowly descended the hill, as instructed in the spell. The circumference of the mound was vast, and Birdie had concluded that by encompassing the entire curvature of the landscape, the spell would be all the more efficacious. The ground was still rumbling, so I half jogged, half slid down the hill, somehow dislodging my sword in the process.

Birdie had warned us not to break the circle of energy, so I kept chanting, finally reaching the bottom of the mound, where I turned and kneeled toward its belly, eyes closed, willing the image of the cauldron to come to me.

The image of the cauldron flashed, briefly, along with a street sign.

Then, another image.

A man I recognized from somewhere, though I couldn’t place him, sneering at me with hatred so vehement, it had a heartbeat.

I mentally shoved him out of the way, and focused again on the cauldron, my eyes squeezed shut.

It flashed again, several times, and I knew exactly where it was.

I was about to stand to head back to the car, when a gloved hand clamped over my mouth. Another pinned my arms to their sides.

The ethereal voice of the riddler ghost curled through my brain.
Beware of the wrath of a rival, and the one who will betray.

Panic flooded my gut. Who was this? Ethan? John? Was it the rival or the one who would betray?

I kicked, tried to bite, scratch, scream, even as I was being dragged away from the mound. I had a sinking feeling that my companions could not see me, nor I them. The instructions had been that when the spell was over, when we all felt like we had emptied our well and no more information would come forth, we were to meet back at the car. Would they be able to spot me from the roadside?

I looked down. Black gloves. Couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

Goddess, please don’t let it be Ivy.

The dagger was strapped to my thigh. I wasn’t sure I could reach it, even if I could wrestle my arms free.

But then the sword called to me. Actually
called
to me. A low hum buzzed in my ears, the tiniest of vibrations, but I somehow knew what it was. I focused on it, the three-muses
grip, the shiny shaft that glimmered when Badb had blessed it. The sharp point of the blade.

As my feet knocked into dirt and rocks, and I was still being hauled off to Goddess knows where, I honed my mind’s eye and pictured the sword in my hand. Imagined that I wasn’t simply calling on Badb, but that her spirit was within me. That I was the embodiment of the warrior goddess herself.

I managed to elbow my attacker, freeing my arm. I stuck my hand out, and without hesitation, the sword flew into my grip. I swept it behind me, swift and low, taking out the legs of the person who had held me.

Free from the grip, I whipped around, the sword hot in my hand, and faced the one who would betray.

Aedon was already back on his feet.

“Hello, Miss Justice.”

I was completely confused. He was the one who had called me to this quest in the first place. “What are you doing?”

He tightened his gloves. “I think it’s time you and I had a private chat.”

“About what?”

“Your reason for being here, of course.” He stepped forward. I felt a wave of anger swell from him.

What was that? Why did he hate me? Did he know about the web? About my chaperoning the field trip?

But I hadn’t done anything to Aedon.

“I don’t think so.” I whipped out my cell phone.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Aedon said. “After all, the spell is incomplete. Should you call to them, or phone them, you’ll break the enchantment and the cauldron
will never be found. The council would frown on that, I believe. We wouldn’t want to upset them with your mother’s release so close.”

I smirked at him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Aedon. The spell worked. I already know where the cauldron is. I’m sure the council will be pleased with my work.”

He feigned surprise. “Is that so? Do tell. Where is the treasure?”

The horrific realization of the message behind his sarcasm hit me like a brick. “You already know, don’t you, Aedon? Because you put it there.”

But why? Why would he steal the cauldron only to call me to look for it? Was this about Birdie?

He widened his eyes in surprise. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure the council will force you to tell them when I drag your ass in.”

Aedon scratched his chin. “Well, this I must hear. How do you plan to drag me in, as you say, Miss Justice?”

I gave him a
duh
look and rallied my sword.

Aedon slid his eyes over my sword and paused for a moment, as if contemplating. I could tell he was enjoying this like a cat plays with a mouse before it pounces. He was powerful, that was sure. He had a lot of years behind him to perfect his craft. But I was swift, my muscles toned, my heart pure. And my mission stemmed from love, not hate.

Aedon said, “While that is an impressive tool, I wouldn’t put too much stake in it. It’s not the instrument that holds the power, but the person who wields it.”

We were far from the mound. They wouldn’t hear me if I called. Best to handle this jacknut myself. I pocketed the phone.

Gripping the sword with both hands, I took two strides forward and snapped my leg behind me in a twirling midair launch. I twisted the sword, intending to slam it flat against Aedon’s back to knock the wind from him.

What happened instead shocked even me.

The sword leaped from my hands toward Aedon.

I crumbled into a heap on the ground, recovered, then reached out, attempting to will my sword back to me. My energy was focused only on that as I concentrated on the blade. It hung in the air for several moments, as if trying to decide which side to choose.