Interference: Book One

by A. F. Presson

  “That’s a mighty big insult to refuse a gift like this, Mercy.” He gave me a partial grin, and he knew he had me.

  I smiled and put the earrings on. They were perfect.

  “Beautiful, just gorgeous. I’ll let her know you loved them.”

  “I’m not sure how to repay you for everything. You and Fitz have supported me and taught me more the last few months than anyone has my entire life. I know my father would be grateful I had both of you.”

  “Proud of that.” He nodded and hugged me. “Let’s get you off this old cargo ship, what do ya say?”

  The bright sunlight hit my eyes, and it took a few minutes to adjust. My friends waited by the exit, looking out over the city of Dublin. I couldn’t believe we were in Ireland.

  “Damn girl, no one told me we had a personal trainer on this freighter. Who worked you over?” Neela called out.

  Drake’s head spun my direction, and the desire in his eyes glided over my skin from head to toe. I knew exactly how he felt.

  Ren ran over, picked me up, and swung me around. He stepped back, looking me over. “My dad did a number on you, didn’t he? I should have warned you.” He chuckled, “It’s good to see your face.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” I smiled at the faces I’d missed so much over the past week. The family I wanted to protect. The reasons I isolated myself to begin with.

  Ren grabbed my bag and left to stand with Neela. Drake hesitantly walked over with his hands in his pockets.

  I smiled. “Hey.”

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Better than I’ve been in a while.”

  “You seem different—happy.” His eyes cut to the ground. “I’ve missed you.”

  I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. My body melted into his. Drake held me tight against him and kissed the top of my head.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to pull away. I looked over the city, and excitement buzzed through me. “You ready for this?”

  He nodded and motioned for me to go ahead of him.

  Marcus had told us to start at some local pubs. The legal drinking age was eighteen, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Before we left, he whispered in my ear, “Stick to your routine, Mercy. You’ll need the structure.”

  Dublin was lively. People and cars in every direction as we walked along the cobblestone path. Gorgeous green mountains created a picturesque backdrop behind busy streets and establishments. We tried a few local shops, but untrustworthy eyes stared us down, not wanting to converse with foreigners. We had to find the right place.

  A small establishment sat in the corner of a busy street, adorned with dark wood accents and a green sign that read Connolly’s Pub.

  “Is this next?” Drake asked.

  I shrugged. “I guess so. It’s as good as any.”

  The dark wood continued on the inside with a wall of whiskey behind a long wooden bar. A handful of tables were scattered around the pub haphazardly, and the lunch crowd consisted of several older men yelling at each other between drinks.

  “Mate! I’ll bate the bag outta ye!” A drunk, older man stumbled to his feet defensively.

  “Flynn, you’ll get Brennan all hepped up, and he’ll lose his head!”

  “Saunter off, Connolly.”

  The bartender rolled his eyes and continued wiping down the counter.

  I reached down, grabbing Neela’s hand. “Maybe this isn’t the best place. I’m not even sure what they’re saying.”

  “Take the weight off yer legs, knackers. Pull a chair.”

  “I think he’s talking to us,” Ren mumbled.

  “Nah, not knackers—blow-ins,” the man they called Flynn, shouted.

  We didn’t move, just stood, staring at the chaos. Suddenly, Drake stepped toward the bar and sat down. I swear, nothing phased that man. We followed him over, and I sat between him and Ren, while Neela sat on the other side of Drake.

  “It be a naggin or a shoulder?” the bartender asked.

  I looked from side to side, confused.

  “Pint of gat,” Drake answered. I looked up at him, and he winked.

  “Same for me,” Ren said.

  I remembered what Marcus told me about alcohol. My power was too strong to risk impairment. “Can I get some water, please?”

  The bartender dropped the glass he held, shattering it on the floor. A hush ran through the pub as everyone turned their head in our direction. His mouth opened in shock, dismay evident in his eyes. “Water?”

  “Yes, please.” I smiled kindly.

  “That one has the bright eyes on her, she does,” Flynn called out.

  Connolly leaned across the bar as if we were sharing secrets. “Fall pregnant, did ye? That’s a fret.”

  Drake’s head turned in my direction, amused interrogation in his eyes.

  “Don’t tell my secrets, Connolly,” I whispered. If I didn’t make friends, I’d get nowhere.

  “Don’t you worry yer pretty lil’ head lass'. Which bloke done the deed?”

  “Not me!” Ren shouted, louder than necessary.

  I looked over at him, surprised by his outburst.

  “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with Mercy. I’d totally do the deed, but she’s not with me. . .”

  The look on Drake’s face shut him up rather quickly.

  “Ah, so yer likin the big lad, here. Congrats, mate.”

  Drake sat silently, and I grabbed the top of his thigh, causing him to flinch.

  “Thank you. I’m so . . . so lucky.” He turned his bottle up, ignoring my glare.

  “Flynn! Brennan! Sling yer hook before I sort you out!” Connolly screamed at the old men, a poor attempt at defusing the argument.

  My grip on Drake’s leg tightened and he placed his hand on top of mine—his thumb rubbing back and forth over my skin. My body soaked in the contact, the warmth and power radiating from him, and the need was overwhelming. My source was in overdrive after having no contact with him the week before. I excused myself and hurried toward the ladies room.

  My back hit the bathroom door—eyes closed. I tried to meditate like Marcus had taught me. After a few minutes, breathing became more manageable, and I settled. That was until I opened the bathroom door and saw Drake leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He watched me, silently, as if deciding what to say.

  “Being this close to you is calming, yet overwhelming.” I admitted. “It’s hard to describe.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. His eyes looked weary. I could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well. “I can give you space,” he offered.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if I want you to.” I smiled and his eyes softened.

  He pushed off from the wall and placed his hand on my lower back, leading me toward the bar.

  Ren had struck up a conversation with a local about the McDonnell family. “We’re looking for someone named Quinn McDonnell. Do you know him?”

  “Don’t ask Flynn, he’s had a drink in him!” another man shouted.

  “Brennan, yer face that sour ye could make yer own yoghurt!” Flynn shouted.

  “McDonnell, ye say?” Connolly asked. “I know Quinn. Fine lad. Moved his family out to Astriawell some years back.”

  “Do you know how we could reach him?” Ren asked.

  “Feck, I can drive ye!” Flynn offered.

  “There we go, now.” Connolly rolled his eyes.

  Flynn stood, defensive. “Careful, Connolly, I’m all hepped up!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The bartender rolled his eyes and continued wiping down the counter.

  “If you have a car, I can drive,” Drake said. “I just need to know the way. I can pay for your time.”

  Flynn rubbed his chin as if he considered the bargain, but we all knew he’d say yes. He’d already offered.

  “Ye got a deal!”

  . . .

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Ye needed a car.” Flynn said,
louder than necessary.

  “Does it run?” Neela questioned.

  Flynn’s eyes widened. “Wind yer neck in, lass.”

  Neela looked over at me with wide eyes, “What did he just say to me?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, baffled. “What kind of car is this?”

  “She’s a ’59 Austin A35. A beaut!”

  The compact car had two doors, and it could’ve possibly been black at one time, but now the metal showed through. The leather seats had splits in some places—the carpet worn to the frame.

  “So, how far is Astriawell?” I asked.

  “Couple hours, now,” Flynn replied.

  We piled into the Austin as Drake and Flynn sat up front. I shoved in between Ren and Neela in the narrow back seat.

  “Mercy, your butt cheek is on my leg,” Ren chuckled, but then locked eyes with Drake in the mirror. “Sorry, man.”

  Flynn gave Drake simple directions, then passed out for most of the drive. The countryside was beautiful—lush green fields, hundreds of sheep, and mountains that went on for miles. I couldn’t imagine living there.

  Flynn woke after a bit, then told Drake to pull to the side of the road so he could ask a farmer where Quinn lived. We were close. We drove for about ten more miles and came upon a charming stone cottage, surrounded by a wooden fence and farmland.

  “There ye are, now.” Flynn got out of the car, pulled our bags out, and tossed them on the ground.

  We followed as Drake handed over several bills. Flynn got in the car and drove away without another word. We stood, in the middle of nowhere, watching the drunk Irishman drive away.

  “What just happened?” Neela asked.

  We busted out laughing at the absurdity, recalling our first day in Dublin with tears rolling down our cheeks. Neela held her stomach, and Ren attempted to speak like the men at the pub, yelling offensively at Neela. When the delirium died down, Drake softly knocked on the old wooden door. We could barely hear the folk music in the background. Drake knocked louder.

  The old hinges creaked as the door swung in. The woman that answered the door had her caramel blonde hair piled high on top of her head, and a colorful head wrap tied around the back. Big blue eyes landed on each person, taking in the scene, as a whiff of marijuana flowed out from behind her. She was high. She pushed back the small tendril of hair that had escaped her wrap—her wrists inked in tattoos, and colorful bracelets dangling from her arm. She was spectacular.

  “Can I help you?” Her accent surprised me. She didn’t sound Irish.

  “Hi, we’re looking for Quinn McDonnell.”

  “Who’s asking? He belt at the pub again?” She asked, already getting angry at Quinn.

  “No! Well, I guess not. I don’t know what that means,” I said.

  “I’m Hilary McDonnell, Quinn’s wife, but you can call me Hillie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mercy Monroe. Brian Fitzpatrick sent me.”

  “What did you say?” Her eyes widened and she stepped back in shock.

  “Um, well, I’m Mercy Monroe. . .”

  “Mercy! Heavens, Child! I can’t believe you’re alive! Let me look at you.”

  She spun me around slowly, but she probably thought it was fast. The effects of the pot still lingered.

  She threw her hands dramatically over her heart. “You look like your dad.”

  “Wait, how do you know who I am?”

  “Our mothers were first cousins. We’re family, Mercy.”

  . . .

  Hillie graciously invited us in, and we sat around the living area while she ‘wet the tea,’ whatever that meant. I couldn’t believe I’d met my cousin in Ireland.

  “Am I the only one getting high?” Neela asked.

  “Nope.” Ren snickered.

  Hillie walked back into the room, the smile on her face unnaturally wide, and handed everyone a cup of hot tea. “Drink up, drink up. This is my special recipe.” She waited patiently for all of us to take a sip. “I use honeysuckle and orange blossoms.”

  “It’s lovely, Hillie. Thank you so much,” I said.

  She beamed at the compliment. She told us all about her paintings on the walls, and the farm she and Quinn ran. She met him when she was my age, and married soon after.

  “When you know, you know,” she said.

  I felt the intensity of Drake’s eyes on my face but I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. He deserved the truth from me before we could move forward.

  Ever the gracious host, Hillie offered us a tray of sandwiches while telling us all about the history of Astriawell. She radiated a light to those nearby, a brightness we desperately needed.

  “You must be wrecked. Quinn won’t be back until late, so let me show you to the loft. It isn’t much, but it’ll do. We’ll talk more tomorrow when Quinn returns and you’ve had a rest.”

  Hillie led us upstairs to a large open loft. Wooden floors against stone walls, the loft couldn’t have been larger than a college dorm. Simple and bare, two twin beds and a bunk bed sat side by side with a lantern in the window.

  “The toilet is at the bottom of the stairs. I know it isn’t much . . .”

  “It’s perfect. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “We’re family, crazy girl. That’s what we do.” She hugged me once more, then turned to leave.

  We all took a bed—Neela on the top bunk and me on the bottom—the springs squeaking loudly in unison. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing, while Neela cackled above me.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. My thoughts turned chaotically, refusing to let me rest. I grabbed a set of clothes out of my bag and snuck toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Neela asked.

  I looked over my shoulder. “Running.”

  “By yourself?” Her brows pulled together in concern.

  “I’ll be fine, Neela.”

  I pulled on my tank and shorts in the restroom, then stepped into the crisp night air. Light jogging turned into a full-on sprint. Miles and miles, the pent-up stress released into the cool breeze like fallen leaves. The relief was immediate. After running down the road and back, I walked the property until my heart returned to a normal pace.

  A barn in the back housed several horses and a chicken coup where a ladder led to a loft full of hay and painting supplies. Hillie was sure to get high and paint up there—probably naked. I fought against that image as I sat up in the loft, thinking of the days ahead. The barn door slamming startled me, and I looked over the edge to see Drake climbing the ladder.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you take off running in another country by yourself, did you?”

  “Well, I’m finished so you can go back to bed. Get some sleep.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t slept soundly in two weeks, Mercy.”

  I knew he wasn’t lying. I saw the truth in the dark circles around his eyes.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” he asked.

  “About what?” Even though I had decided to come clean, the immature part of me insisted on playing dumb.

  “What you’re keeping from me.”

  I sighed. Drake had been through so much in his life. I wanted to be the one who brought happiness—not pain. The truth about his parents wouldn’t be easy. On top of that, all this way for a person I’d never met? That seemed a little crazy, and I hated that I couldn’t explain it. But if I ever wanted to mend things, I knew I’d have to be honest with him.

  “Promise me you won’t think I’m naïve or ridiculous,” I said, softly.

  “Is that what’s keeping you from being honest? You should know me better than that.”

  He was right. I did know him better than that.

  “The night of the attack at Fremont, Dr. Lee said something to me about knowing I’d come for Marley. The last vision I had, the child mentioned Marley again, right before she claimed ownership to my mother’s ring.”

  “You want to kno
w who Marley is,” he guessed. “You want to find her.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “I do.”

  He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry about me falling into Aadya’s trap. I need to find Marley, but I don’t know why.” I swallowed. “I know you would have tried to talk me out of it.”

  “Maybe. It wouldn’t have stopped me from coming with you though.” He tilted his head, thoughtfully. “Is that all?” he asked.

  “There’s something else.”

  Drake waited, patiently.

  I closed my eyes and blurted out the truth. “The night your parents died—they were protecting me from Aadya.” My voice cracked. “It’s my fault, Drake.”

  He took a step back and shook his head, confused. “What? How do you know this?”

  My voice was barely a whisper. “Fitz told me. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

  He stared at the hay under his feet, but his eyes were vacant, as if transported to another time and place.

  I tried again. “Please—say something.”

  “You, um. You caught me off guard, Mercy. That’s not what I expected.” He slid down to the floor, sitting with his elbows propped on his knees. “I’ve thought of that night so many times. Wanting to understand what could have been so important for them to risk their lives. Leave their sons behind to fend for themselves.”

  “Please don’t hate me,” I whispered.

  Drake’s expression softened. “I could never hate you. At least I know they died fighting a worthy cause. A cause I’d lay down my own life for.” Drake looked up at me. “I just need some time to process, you know?”

  “I understand.”

  “This trip could’ve gone differently for us if you had been honest, Mercy. I’d follow you into fire, nothing you can say will change that.”

  “I’m sorry, Drake.”

  “I’m glad you told me.” He stood and dusted the hay from his jeans.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To bed. Let’s see if I can sleep now that my imagination isn’t running wild from your dark secrets.”

  “I’ll be there soon,” I told him.

  “Goodnight.”