Reluctantly Charmed (37 page)

One group seemed to be more animated than the others: they were crouched lower, and you could sense the intensity of their conversation by the tightness of their shoulders. They were also the only people who, apart from me, had kept their anoraks on, in spite of the stifling heat of the pub. Their shoulders seemed to rise and fall as one, as they breathed in and out. Suddenly they uttered a collective “Ooooh!” It sounded like a eureka moment and they all slowly eased backward so their faces became visible. It was them! The Anoraks. The original Anoraks. I covered my face immediately. Even though I felt more confident with the wig in place, I knew this group of Anoraks were particularly thorough. But I had to admit that, in a very strange way, I was a little bit happy to see them. Maybe even more than a little bit. They’d been on this journey with me—albeit theirs was a much more unusual and potentially psychotic journey—but, still, they had been there from the beginning.

“I must be getting homesick. I’m kind of happy to see them.”

“Who?”

I cocked my head toward the colorful corner. Matthew snapped his neck around. “Aren’t they the Anoraks?” He looked shocked.

“The original crew.” I could hear pride creeping into my voice.

“And here they are in Knocknamee.” He rubbed his eyes. “They followed you down?”

“They followed the Steps down.”

“This is nuts, isn’t it?” He looked at me and slowly shook his head.

“Nuts.”

“I mean, all these people believe in these Steps. They think there’s a message. They believe they’re going to reawaken the fairies. Nobody doubts it. They believe there’s truth in it.”

“Well, you did, too. For one moment.” I didn’t want to share with him what I knew. I wasn’t ready to tell him that it was true, all of it was true. That there were fairies and spells. That the Anoraks were right.

“I know. I suppose I just got caught up in it. I think I always like to believe in the possibility of other things. But I really didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, Kate. I’m so . . .”

“Sorry, I know.”

He furrowed his heavy eyebrows.

“No, I mean, I get it, kind of.” I started to scratch at my wig. The heat of the room was making it itch. “And if this wasn’t me, if it wasn’t happening to me, maybe I’d really get it. You know, people believe in healing, in angels, in God—all kinds of things that aren’t tangible. And I think the Steps are easy to believe in. There’s a message—bang—every week. And now there’s a place, and yeah, I get it, there’s a leader. A reluctant leader.” I gave out a half smile.

“Parched.” Matthew licked his lips and sipped from his pint.

“Matthew . . .” It was a bit of a long shot but worth asking. “Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?”

“Yeah, the cult group in Dublin?”

“Do you know anything about them?” It was a hunch. Dad had mentioned that Liam McCarthy had been rumored to be involved with them. The signet rings, the interest in the other world—there was a chance that this was the group that Maura was affiliated with.

“A bit. I think it started up in around the 1700s. There’s an old ruin that used to be some English landlord’s grand estate. It was built on top of a cairn, you know, a mass grave. So it was always rumored to be haunted, and then it burned down a couple of times, so they gave up trying to rebuild it. Small groups of people used to meet there for satanic worship. They used to sacrifice animals—horrible stuff. But it’s all rumor, really. There are YouTube videos of people playing with Ouija boards up there. It’s kind of infamous.”

I shivered at the memory of Mister Snoop Doggy Dogg trying to attack Maura. Could there be something in it? Could he have been trying to protect me? Could he see that she was involved in the dark arts?

“Infamous but not current? I mean, this stuff doesn’t go on nowadays, does it?”

He looked at me and frowned. “What are you talking about, Kate?”

“The dark arts, contacting the other world: it doesn’t happen anymore, does it?”

“Look around you, Kate. You’re leading a whole group of ‘other world’ followers.”

Oh God
, I thought,
he’s right
. If I was involved in this, I had
every reason to believe that Maura and her band of ancient politicians and powerful people were equally involved. But why? What did they want?

“Wait until I tell you.” Matthew leaned forward and slapped my thigh. “You know the old ruin near here? There’s a well close by—I don’t even think it’s actually in the same grounds—but this lot doesn’t care.” He was laughing. “They’re getting water out of the well and saying it can heal people.”

“What?” I shouted, a little too loudly, judging by the number of heads that spun back to see the commotion.

“I swear to God. I couldn’t believe it. They’re drinking the water and putting it directly onto whatever is broken or sore. It’s just crazy.”

“Are many people doing it?”

“The path up to it looks pretty well worn.”

“Is it free?”

“No. People are handing over euros like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Are they stupid or greedy?” I said, not expecting an answer.

“I knew I recognized you.”

Standing over the table was the biggest Anorak of them all. Simon. He was staring at me. “It’s Kate McDaid.” Simon’s voice trembled and his eyes popped so far out of his head they looked like they’d fall out. He began to whisper the same thing, trancelike, over and over again.
“Tá tú laoch. Tá tú slánaitheoir.”

“What’s he saying?” I asked Matthew.

“You are our hero. You are our savior.”

Ah, fuck
.

“Come on, let’s go.” Matthew stood up and started guiding me to the door.

Nowhere was safe anymore.

32

F
iona and Lily arrived late that night, all rosy-cheeked and gasping for a drink. Mavis showed them upstairs to their room, a yellow, 1950s-style marital room with twin beds and hints of Doris Day and Rock Hudson.

There were now seven guests staying at the B and B, all followers of the Steps. Martin and Mavis had rented out every room, including their own, and had been sleeping on a blow-up mattress under the kitchen table. It was playing havoc with Mavis’s knees, but they thought it was a bit of an adventure, so they didn’t mind too much.

Normally I had breakfast in the dining room. I’d duck in late and, hiding behind my wig and a book, I’d eat my honeyed porridge and nobody would take any notice—no one in the B and B knew who I was. But now that I’d been discovered by the Anoraks, I was worried I’d be recognized. So I breakfasted early, with Martin and Mavis, huddling over the multifunctioning kitchen table well before the other guests had wiped the sleep from their eyes.

“So the good news is . . .” Martin poured some steaming tea into a mug with
ITALIA ’90
on the side. “With the extra money we’ve earned and with a couple of donations from people, we’ve
now enough to buy a kit for the under-twelve hurling team. The post office is going to sponsor us.” He was beaming with pride. “I can’t wait to see the lads out there in their green and gold.” He started to tear up. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Mavis looked up, smiling. “It’s because of you, you know? He’d never have organized the money, otherwise. But all these extra people in the village, the extra money. It’s great stuff, altogether.”

I blew on my tea to cool it down. “Well, at least something good is coming out of these Steps,” I said into my cup.

“There’s a lot of good out of these. Look at all the money in the village now.”

I made a face. It wasn’t all good. The beautiful wild purple and yellow flowers on the pathway to the foot of Devil’s Bit had been trampled into the ground. Slimy gray wads of litter clogged up the stream that ran into the Shannon. There were bonfires on An Trá Bhán every night, which weren’t cleaned up, leaving cans and cigarettes and half-eaten sausages poking through the golden sand. Johnny Logan was said to be considering widening the main street so there’d be more room for cars and vans to pass through. It would mean straightening it out, losing its soft curves and character, but maybe that’s what money meant to Knocknamee.

“Money doesn’t buy happiness.” I knew it was a cliché, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Well, it’ll buy new kit.” Mavis got up from the table and began to busy herself with the eggs.

“Look what money did to the Red Hag.” I’d been thinking a lot about the old witch these last few days. I still had so many unanswered questions.

“That’s true. But sure, aren’t we wiser now than they were then?” Martin said with a wink.

I couldn’t answer him.

I went upstairs and gave the girls a wake-up call by jumping on their beds.

“It’s too early! What time is it?” Fiona pulled a pillow over her face. “I don’t work. I haven’t had a lie-in in years. Let me enjoy it.”

“I don’t use a clock because the fairies told me not to, remember?” I laughed.

Lily sprang out of bed, her blond hair haywire and stuck to her pink pajamas. “Your spell with Mr. Goatee—it worked! I felt like a maniac waving that stick around, but it doesn’t matter, because it worked. He doesn’t even like me anymore, let alone obsessively love me.” She dropped her voice, serious now. “Kate, you can do spells.”

I stopped jumping and sat uneasily on the bed.

Fiona sat up. “Anne-Marie’s baby sleeps like a dream now, after she did all that stuff you said. Although he does sleep a lot. She says he nearly sleeps too much. He’s pretty much asleep around the clock.”

“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good.”

“She asked me to mention it to you. To see if you had any other ideas.”

“A little bit of basil in his milk and heavy woolen socks will have him back to normal.” I shrugged apologetically. “I do seem to know things I shouldn’t, if that makes any sense. But I’m not getting them quite right. I think I need more practice.”

Lily sat beside me and put her arms around my shoulders. “Don’t stress, hon. We think it’s going to be great. We talked about it on the way down. Think of all the things you can do with this: spell books, love potions—well, proper ones. Maybe you can win the lottery out of this somehow. Who knows? It’s so exciting!”

I shifted uncomfortably, chewing on my fingernails. “Look,
I think it’s weird. It’s freakish. I don’t know what it is, yet. I just know that I know a few things. Spells, I guess, but that might be all I know. I don’t even seem to know them fully. I’m getting them half right. Anyway, that might be the end of all I know—bits of spells.”

Fiona leaned out of her bed and reached for my hand. “Well, if it’s over, it’s over, and if you’re a freak, you’re
our
freak. We wouldn’t have you any other way.”

I smiled. “You two are big saps.”

“We know,” they said in unison.

“Now, please, can I go back to sleep? It’s only half-eight or something ridiculous. I’m enjoying my new life.” Fiona collapsed back onto her bed and repositioned the pillow over her face.

“Wait for the big news, Kate!” Lily paused dramatically, smiling. “Fiona has a crush.”

I must have looked really shocked, because Lily slyly pinched me and raised her eyebrows. I’d never known Fiona to have a crush on anyone. I tried to act nonchalant. “Really? Who?”

“One of those anorak guys. The head one. What’s his name, Fi?”

“Simon. He’s so cute. I met him when I called around to your flat to feed Snoop. Your boss has taken him back, by the way. His son’s allergies have cleared up.”

I nearly fell off the bed. Simon? Cute? But it was Fiona, who never liked anyone, so I had to be supportive. “Really?”

“We just started talking. He was out the front, dropping a book or something off at yours, and, God, I don’t know.” She blushed. “We seemed to hit it off. At least, I think we did. Maybe he feels differently. But I really liked him. He seemed really sweet and . . .” Misty-eyed, she trailed off.

I smiled. “This is brilliant!”

Fiona bit her lip nervously and then threw her head back onto her pillow. “I don’t know. What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Trust me, Fi. You would be a catch for him.”

Lily snuggled down into her bed. “I’m going back to sleep, too, Kate. Half-eight: it’s too early to be awake. Just twenty minutes more—that’s all I need.”

“Whatever.” I started to leave the room. “You just can’t cope with this country air, you city folk. I’ll see you two after lunch.” I shut the door behind me.

“You’re as popular as ever.” Matthew was sitting on my bed, rifling through piles of newspapers.

“Me? Or ‘me, the spiritual guru’?”

“Spiritual guru. You should read some of these.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Seriously, look at these headlines: ‘The Humble Spiritualist,’ ‘Modern Witch Teaches Modesty,’ ‘Is Kate McDaid the Irish Dalai Lama?’ And that’s only the Sunday papers. The daily ones are off the scale. Who’s, em . . .” He rummaged through some pages, flicking wildly. “Anita O’Herlihy?”

I had to think long and hard. “Oh, yeah, she was in my Spanish class at school up to third year. Blond girl.”

“She sold a tell-all about you in school, but she did it with her clothes off. Check it out.”