Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5)

by Bridgette O'Hare

  “I thought since ya like red pepper flakes in your chicken and gnocchi like I do, ya might also like your soup topped with cheese. If ya don’t, I’ll get ya another bowl.”

  “Oh, you thought right. Is that bread?” I asked and nodded toward the basket.

  “Aye, that it is.”

  “Perfect.” I peeked beneath the cloth covering the bread and slipped a warm roll from inside.

  Cian grabbed two oversized coffee mugs from beneath the bar and placed them just out of my sight on a ledge several inches below the bar top, then he pressed the coffee until all the grounds were pushed to the bottom of the glass container. He poured a dose of the mahogany-colored liquid into each mug, doused it with heavy cream, and added a shot of something. Because of the angle, I couldn’t read the name on the bottle’s label. He stirred each mug a few times then placed them on the bar and slid one in my direction.

  “There ya go. One Columbian Special. Two . . . if a double counts as two.”

  The mug was large enough it would easily hold two full cups of coffee. I wrapped my fingers slowly around the uneven proportions of the hand-thrown work of art and admired the variations in the blue and purple glaze that dripped into a cream-colored base. I considered asking if I could take the mug with me, it was so my style and that beautiful. The warmth in my hands was comforting. I brought it to my lips and paused, inhaling the rich fragrance of coffee beans mixed with the familiar aroma of Jameson and the balancing scent of vanilla. It only took a moment to realize he had steeped the coffee grounds in steaming hot Jameson whiskey and then added in vanilla and cream.

  I took a sip and let out a breathy moan. “Mmm.” In an instant, I relaxed just enough to appreciate the flavors as they swirled together in my second sip. “This is amazing,” I declared. “And I swear that’s not just the caffeine deficiency talking.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let ya in on a lit’l secret,” he said and leaned toward me like the bar was crowded instead of us being the only two in the entire building.

  “I do like secrets,” I replied. “Go on.”

  “I came up with it on accident. I hadn’t slept in nearly two days, and my brother had one of those fancy bottles of water sitting next t’ a bottle of Jameson. I was so tired, I didn’t realize I was pouring Jameson into the kettle instead of water, that is, until I was pouring it from the kettle in t’ the coffee grounds. At that point, I felt it would have been a waste of both coffee and whiskey. So . . . I went with it.” He smiled and raised his mug then took a deep swig. His mug was as artfully made as mine only with a different color palette, a mixture of browns with hints of blues peeking through in areas. I made a mental note to ask him where they came from. Mine fit so perfectly in my hand, I needed one. Or five.

  “I have t’ say, Nira wasn’t wrong. This is by far the best coffee I’ve ever had. I hope the soup is as good,” I added as I put the soup spoon that had been nestled next to the bowl to good use.

  After a spoonful or two, I looked up to find he had been watching me, waiting for my assessment of the soup. I had to admit, it was just as delicious as the coffee.

  “Did you make this? Or is that a secret too?” I asked.

  “Not a secret. I did make this. It’s a family recipe. My grandmother was an amazing cook.”

  “We all inherit different gifts from our bloodlines. What else did she pass on to you?” I said, hoping he would say something that might give me a clue as to his race.

  “Besides a wicked sense of humor?” He grinned.

  “One joke about an old man eating cardboard isn’t enough t’ convince me,” I teased. “I’m gonna need a proven track record before I’m persuaded. What else ya got?”

  “Tenacity, ya know, fer persuading the cynics.”

  “Touché.”

  “And a love for travel. Or are you referring to more . . . useful gifts?” he asked.

  This one was not only attractive, he was smart. He knew what I was doing. At least, to some degree. My guess would have been that he’s done his share of stealthy information gathering. With every moment I spent in the presence of Cian McCallister, I grew more intrigued.

  I offered him a conceding smile as I swallowed a spoonful of soup and simply shrugged my shoulders. “I mean, if you’re in a sharing mood, I’m a good listener.”

  “I bet you are,” he smiled in return. “Maybe we will discuss that another time. Tonight, I think we have a more pressing matter to consider.”

  He took a few swigs from his mug and grabbed a stool that had been sitting off to the side behind the bar. He pulled it to a spot directly across from me, settled himself on it, and placed his elbows near the edge of the bar. With one hand gripping his other in a fisted position, he leaned and looked me square in the eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “I do know who you are.”

  Seven

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. He was in complete control of the conversation because I didn’t have a clue in what direction it was about to go. All I could do was buckle in and hold on. I pushed my bowl, along with what was left of my soup and my appetite, to the side and wrapped both hands around the coffee mug before me. It was a futile effort to anchor myself to something.

  “I’m afraid you’re going t’ have to elaborate,” I insisted. “Who exactly do ya think I am, Mr. McCallister?”

  He glared at me over the tops of his clasped hands, and then the corners of his eyes lifted in unison with the corners of his mouth. “Well, Aisling O’Cléirigh, I think you just might be the answer to a prayer.”

  It was certainly not the response I was prepared for, and I had thought I was somewhat prepared for most anything.

  “Come again?” I blurted out before I gave it a second thought.

  His smile widened. “I can see I caught you off guard.”

  “Ya think? I don’t know how t’ respond to that, except t’ ask you once more to elaborate. But I’m almost a lit’l afraid t’ ask just what it is you’ve been praying for.”

  “That’s actually a really good place t’ start. You see, I’ve been praying for answers. Specifically praying for someone who has enough knowledge and experience to help me find those answers. And that’s how I came across you, Miss O’Cléirigh.”

  “Aish,” I interrupted him. “Please, call me Aish."

  “If ya promise t’ stop callin’ me Mr. McCallister, then that’s a deal.”

  “Sounds fair,” I agreed. “So, Cian, please go on. I can hardly wait t’ hear how I’m an answer to your prayers,” I said with a trace of sarcasm, unable to prevent a hint of a smile from forming.

  “Mock me if ya want, but I’m right. You are not givin’ yourself nearly enough credit.”

  “Maybe that’s because I don’t know what t’ give myself credit for,” I shot back and then pulled a long drink from my coffee. It was getting low, but I wasn’t about to ask him to make me another. At least, not until I had some answers as to where this conversation was going and, more importantly, why we were having it in the first place.

  “I know you are aware of The Saiad—The Hunter’s Guild,” he revealed without hesitation and without even a tinge of doubt in his tone. It was clear that, in his mind, it wasn’t possible I might not know what he was referring to.

  Most Supernaturals simply called The Saiad The Hunters and believed them to be a thing of myth and legend—stories told around campfires of demon hunters and vampire slayers. To my understanding, only the Natra Agency and the High Council had any definitive knowledge of the modern-day existence and operation of The Saiad. And, honestly, I had often questioned the High Council’s grasp on what was truly going on within the organization. Based on their lack of action, I doubted the High Council knew what The Saiad was not only capable of, but the countless acts of violence against Supernaturals that they were responsible for carrying out. It seemed inconceivable to think the Council could knowingly sit back, doing nothing, while The Saiad continued to hunt down our kind with the sole
purpose of eradication.

  Although my pulse quickened and a lump formed in my throat, I did my best to maintain an expressionless glare at Cian over the top of my mug. Of course I was aware of the Hunters. I’d spent the majority of the past seven years of my life either racing against The Saiad to locate and retrieve powerful supernatural artifacts or infiltrating their ranks in the hopes we could dismantle their organization without starting an all-out war. If Cian had knowledge of The Saiad beyond the usual tales, then there was more to him than what had already perplexed me.

  “I’ve heard the stories,” I replied, upholding the emotionless façade.

  He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly and gave me a look that almost broke me. It was a look I had been given countless times by Kara when she knew I was holding out on her. Without speaking a word, his face said, “Really?” It kind of made me want to laugh, but I held my ground. I needed to know just how much intel Cian McCallister legitimately had. And I had faced down meaner and tougher than he had proven to be thus far.

  “So, you are seriously going t’ play hard ball, ay?” he asked.

  “I’m seriously going to listen to what ya have t’ say. If you want t’ call that hard ball, then I suppose that’s what I’m playing, aye.” I wasn’t about to offer information when I didn’t even know which team he was on.

  “Very well,” he continued, “I s’pose I can’t blame ya. It’s not like this is your typical get-to-know-you conversation. I’d play it close to the vest, too, if I were you.”

  “Good to know. Now, you know I’ve heard the tales of The Saiad, so how exactly is me being an answer to a prayer connected to me being aware of who they are?”

  He leaned forward until he was resting his forearms on the bar and looking me straight in the eyes. “Because you, Aish O’Cléirigh, have walked among them.”

  My breathing hitched, but I did my best to recover with what I hoped weren’t any obvious compromises of the truth. “I’m not entirely sure what it is ya seem to be accusing me of, Mr. McCallister.” I needed to turn this conversation around. Fast. He had been in control, and it was time for that to change.

  “Cian,” he insisted. “We made a deal.”

  “Aye. We did. However, that was before you subtly accused me of being a traitor to the supernatural races. Even if The Saiad are something more than tall tales told to frighten children from straying too far from home, I would never be involved in their organization. For any reason,” I contended and stared hard at him, maintaining eye contact to ensure he knew I was offended.

  “Hmm. Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “I was hoping you might be able to help me take them down.”

  I sat my empty mug out of the way, crossed my arms atop the bar, and leaned in, studying the man across from me. I was fully aware of the psychology he had just used on me. I’d used it myself countless times. So, one would think I might be able to resist posing my next question.

  But one would be wrong.

  “And just where did you get the idea that I might be able t’ help you with such a thing?”

  A smile transformed his face, emphasizing the dimple in each cheek and making him even more appealing. I shook the thought from my mind, waited for his reply, and tried not to focus on his smile.

  “Now, it wouldn’t be very smart of me to reveal my sources if ya haven’t even agreed to help me, would it?”

  He had a point. And it was valid. My curiosity, however, was not so valid, and it was about to get the better of me. Again. I may be offering up another of my nine lives.

  “I feel like we’re at a stand-off here, Cian.” I made sure to emphasize his name. “Considering I didn’t even know you existed before tonight, I’m at a disadvantage. Since you seem to know more about me than I do you, in order for me to entertain the idea of moving forward with this conversation I’m going to need this playing field to level itself a bit,” I pointed out.

  “I can understand how you might feel that way. What do you need?”

  “Well, for starters, how am I supposed to agree to help you with somethin’ as harrowing as takin’ on an ancient, deadly organization like The Saiad without even a hint as t’ whether I can trust you or not? So . . . I suppose I have two questions. Who is Cian McCallister at his core? And how is it you know so much about me but didn’t recognize me when I walked into your café tonight?”

  If I didn’t have the option of judging the light—or lack of—within Cian for myself, I had no other choice but to decide the old-fashioned way—ask questions and rely on my instincts.

  “You don’t mess around. No frills. Just straight t’ the point. I like that,” he stated, situating himself on his bar stool. “But I’m not so sure I have any straight t’ the point answers for ya. No matter what I say, they’re just words. Anyone can tell you what ya want t’ hear, lass. Even if I gave you resumé and list of character references, there’s no guarantee any of it wouldn’t be orchestrated to show you and tell you exactly what it is I want ya t’ hear.”

  “Aye, that is true. So, what makes you so sure everything ya think you know about me isn’t an orchestration then?”

  “Touché.” He narrowed his gaze and slowly his mouth tightened in a satisfied smirk. “Here’s what I know, beyond certainty, about you, Miss O’Cléirigh.”

  “Ohpp,” I sounded and held up a finger. “I believe you said we had a deal.”

  He nodded. “Aish.”

  I felt a smile form on my lips at the familiar way he spoke my name.

  His smile grew to match, and he leaned toward me once more and locked his gaze with mine. When he began to speak, his voice was different. Lower. More personal. “You see beyond what is directly in front of you. You are perceptive, yet . . .” he paused, regarding me with an intensified focus. “Yet, you’re not fully aware of your own potential. You are guarded, so very guarded, yet you live in the moment. You appreciate beauty, as I do,” he said as he leaned closer to me until his face was only inches from mine. “And you are definitely more than I expected,” he added with a softer timbre.

  My skin tingled. Every cell in my body shivered. It was an unfamiliar sensation that existed just beyond the realm of my control.

  “Well, that’s quite the assessment,” I replied with a tone to match his, and I inched slightly closer like gravity was pulling me in his direction without my consent. The tingling sensation increased. I felt just a bit bare, trying to fight the tension that hung in the air around us. I almost admitted it, and that’s when I realized I was holding my breath. I snapped myself from the trance and tried to change the atmosphere of the conversation. “Ya know, all I expected when I came in here tonight was a bite to eat and a decent coffee. So . . . looks like we both ended up with more than we anticipated.”

  “It would seem so,” he said softly. “But the coffee was fantastic, wasn’t it?” he winked.

  I chuckled. “It was.”

  “Another?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I said just above a whisper.

  He hesitated, holding my stare for a moment longer, then took my mug and broke the gravitational pull between us.

  I watched him curiously as he went about mixing the coffee concoction.

  “So, what do you say you give me a chance t’ earn your trust?” he asked as he added the last ingredient to my freshly made Columbian Special. “I’ll offer my trust as collateral, tell you everything I know about The Saiad, and answer any questions you have.”

  “Like how you knew who I was before I walked in?”

  He flashed that dimple adorned smile again over his shoulder. “Aye. Like that. Any questions.”

  “Well then, I do believe I’m going t’ have t’ think that over. How about we start tomorrow, though? I’ve had a long day, and you’ve kinda hijacked my first night in town.”

  As much as I wanted to know all the answers ten minutes ago, if I started asking questions, it would be the wee hours of the morning befo
re my head hit the pillow. And I needed to process, settle in, and see what information Kara had found on Super Attractive Guy, aka Cian McCallister.

  “We don’t open here until lunch. If you’d like t’ come by in the morning, I’d be happy t’ whip something up for breakfast and we can talk. There’s complete and total privacy within these walls.”

  I hesitated.

  “There will be coffee,” he added as he turned back toward me, mug in hand. “I hear it’s the best in town.”

  I narrowed my eyes and unconsciously bit on the inside of my cheek as I contemplated the offer.

  “Very well. What time?” I asked.

  “Nine?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He took my coffee and poured it into a takeout cup, then stepped to the end of the bar and put something into a small paper bag. He returned, handed me both and said, “I put a lit’l something in there for ya in case ya still happen to be hungry.”

  “Thank you. ‘Tis very kind.” I took the bag and the coffee and started toward the front door.

  He got there before me, and I caught a glimpse as he moved his finger inconspicuously in a familiar pattern. It was definitely something I recognized—protection magic. Cian was undoubtedly either Fae or Witch. And that explained a few things.

  As I walked to my car, I knew two things with absolute confidence—Cian McCallister was dangerous, and I was in over my head. Not because I couldn’t handle myself under precarious conditions—I could. And not because this was uncharted territory—I trusted my instincts to improvise. What made agreeing to join forces with Cian McCallister the most dangerous situation I had ever faced was . . . I didn’t feel like I was in danger at all.

  Eight

  I did my best to push Cian McCallister from my mind as stepped out into the cool autumn air and made my way to the car. I drove to the two-story Cape Cod style cottage without missing a turn, but I couldn’t help going at a leisurely speed and taking in some of the town’s charm along the way. No matter if you found yourself in a large city like Dublin or New York or a picturesque town like Kinnitty, every locale developed a different ambience at night. Pyreshore was no exception. Brisk wind whistled through the alleys and rustled trees along quaint avenues lit with streetlights straight out of a Dicken’s novel. It was a seamless blend of old world and new.