“Of course, I’m nothing if not filled with information,” she said with a playful tone and a wink.
Nira Garrison was indeed not the uptight persona she projected. Just another reminder that few things were ever as they seemed upon first appearance. Especially people. It was a thought that sent my mind back to the enigmatic Cian McCallister. I considered asking Nira what insight she might be able to offer on the coffee-making savant, but I hesitated as we had arrived at our destination.
“This is the research area for Keepers,” she announced as she pushed the door and glided through.
“Several hundred years of artifacts and the histories of our bloodlines are housed in this section of the library. Fae, Sphynxes, Werewolves, Witches . . . each of our histories are preserved in this location and passed down from generation to generation through priceless relics and tomes of aged leather. Pyreshore appears to be little more than a quaint New England coastal town, but there’s so much more to it. The very foundation of this town is built with our histories. If you ever need to learn anything about any of the races, this is the place to begin.”
I stood in awe as I looked around. “It’s so much like the old library in Trinity College,” I mumbled.
“That’s because Thomas Burgh’s father was a Keeper of the Gargoyle variety, his oldest brother carried on the position. But Thomas played in the halls here quite often, according to the stories. As evidenced by his architectural design of Trinity’s library, these halls clearly stayed with him,” Nira revealed. “Please, feel free to familiarize yourself. Take your time.”
I wanted nothing more than to take the entire day, but I had someplace to be at nine. I glanced to the clock on the wall. Already ten minutes after eight. I needed to speak with Uncle Lachlan for at least a few minutes.
“Is the building open tomorrow?” I asked.
“Not to the public, but as a Keeper you have full twenty-four-hour access. Every day. Public access hours vary, and are limited, although it is completely closed to them on Sundays.”
“Noted. Thank you. I believe I’ll come back tomorrow when I have more time to truly get familiar with everything here.”
Nira’s eyebrow arched subtly. “I understand. You have plans with your uncle today,” she stated. It was an eloquent move. Highly impressive inquiring method. And my opening to ask about Cian.
“Actually, I’m meeting Cian McCallister for coffee,” I offered and watched for her reactions.
Both eyebrows raised with curiosity, but she withheld a verbal response.
“Something I should know?” I challenged.
“Oh no. I’m just . . . a little surprised, I guess.”
My turn to raise an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because Cian is nothing like Dex Long. Dex is open and chatty with new people. Cian is reserved. The circle of people he engages with isn’t really a circle at all—more like a line between him and his brother, Brenhin. I have never seen him interact with anyone in a social manner outside of the café or the bar,” she volunteered.
“The bar?” I inquired.
“Cian owns Rocky’s Tavern. It’s really the only actual bar in town.”
“I see.” I wanted to tell her to rest easy. My coffee date with Cian wasn’t a date at all. It was purely business. But I wasn’t sure how much, if anything, Nira knew about The Saiad. I certainly didn’t know how much Cian wanted her, or anyone, to know. As much as I hated to leave her imagination to run rampant, it was probably better that she think there was something social happening instead. “He didn’t mention the bar while we were chatting last night. Maybe he will today. But I do want to thank you for suggesting the Columbian Special. It did not disappoint,” I added, hoping to keep her imagination running in a safe direction far away from the truth. “I never would have thought to brew coffee that way.”
She glared at me curiously. “He actually told you how he makes it?” her tone was laced with disbelief.
“Umm . . .” I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Oh, wow.” Her eyes widened with a knowing gleam, and an odd smile formed on her perfectly painted lips. “That must have been some chat you two had.”
I needed to stop this before it spiraled further.
“It was just a regular chat,” I stated, immediately realizing my tone totally sounded like I was trying to defend myself. Hello guilty subconscious. Just thinking about the previous night, being near Cian, caused a hint of the sensation and connection I’d felt to rush over my skin. I drew in a slow, cleansing breath and reminded myself it was just a chat. A strange, confusing, thought-provoking, stimulating chat.
Nira’s smile widened. “I see,” she paused for only a moment. “How about I give you a quick walkthrough of the rest of the library and let you get over to the offices and your uncle before you have to leave for that coffee?”
“That sounds good,” I practically jumped at the chance for the current conversation about Cian to come to an end.
“Follow me,” she requested.
I pushed through the glass doors of the Keepers administrative building. For a Saturday morning, there were more people moving about inside than I had expected, but it was still mostly void of traffic. I turned left and followed a long hall as Nira had instructed.
Massive windows lined the right side of the hallway, allowing for a great deal of natural light. I glanced through an open door into one of the offices as I passed, and my focus instantly went to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the outside wall. Pressed for time, I didn’t have a chance to look at much else.
Uncle Lachlan’s office was the next to last door and was also standing open.
“Do you always leave your office door open?” I asked as I stopped at the threshold.
He smiled. “No, lass. I was expecting ye. Wanted t’ make it easier fer ye t’ find me. Please, come in.” He motioned me forward. As I stepped to the side to close the door behind me, I noticed a symbol that appeared to have been seared into the door. It was the same symbol as the one hanging around my neck, hidden beneath my sweater. The pendant Grams had given me.
Uncle Lachlan must have noticed me admiring it. “Every Keeper and High Council member is given a medallion that corresponds with their bloodline. Ye shall get yers soon enough, lass.”
I glanced at the symbol once more before pushing the door to a close and wondered if Uncle Lachlan knew about my pendant. “I’ve seen that symbol before.” I pointed back over my shoulder toward the door. “Is it something specific t’ the Keepers and High Council? Or should I have been seeing it more regularly?” I asked, curious about the origins. Until just that moment, I had, in fact, never seen it other than forged in silver around my neck. All I knew was that on my sixteenth birthday Grams gave it to me and told me to never take it off. She said it would always help me find the path to where I was meant to be.
“Tis not an e’ryday emblem. Tis the insignia of the originals of our bloodline. So, while ye may run across it on an artifact or ancient tome, ye aren’t goin’ t’ find it on merchandise in the souvenir shop,” he explained with a smile. “Each medallion issued t’ a Keeper or High Council member ‘tis specially forged using the purest silver laced with a secret metal known only by the forger. Tis a secret passed down through their family, so, if it ever comes int’ query, only they can validate the authenticity of a Keeper or Council member using their medallion.”
Part of me wanted to ask more questions, but I knew asking questions might lead to questions being asked of me. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal anything just yet. Even to my own uncle. I needed to do a little research for myself, now that I knew there might be more to the symbolism of my pendant. It was possible I had trust issues. Maybe it was partly because of my job, maybe it stemmed from Grams telling me there would only be one person I could trust completely, and I was positive I didn’t know who that person was. Either way, I felt more comfortable keeping things to myself.
“
Have a seat,” Uncle Lachlan motioned to one of the leather club chairs situated in front of his desk.
His office felt like an extension of the comfortable atmosphere of his home. There was a large stone fireplace, more mahogany walls, and rustic everything accentuated by built-in shelving on the inside wall that held even more books and artifacts. The outside wall was floor-to-ceiling windows like the other office I had passed on the way.
I accepted his offer to sit and dropped into one of the chairs. The one with a decorative pillow. I wanted to ask why there was only one pillow, but I only had so much time and . . . priorities.
“I sensed ye had something important t’ talk t’ me about when ye called this morning,” he said and leaned forward to rest his arms on his desk, awarding me his full attention.
I contemplated my reply. “Aye. Well, maybe. I’m honestly not sure just how important it is in the grand scheme of things. But I’d like your insight on a matter, if ya don’t mind.”
“Of course, lass. I’ll help where I can. What’s on yer mind?”
“Cian McCallister.” I decided to just come straight out with it.
A hidden smile formed beneath his stare. His expression almost seemed amused. “And what about Mr. McCallister would ye like t’ know?”
I let out an exasperated sigh and slumped lower into the chair. “T’ be fair, Uncle Lach . . . I’m not even sure. Everything, I suppose. Whatever you can tell me that might help me get a better read on him. He’s quite difficult t’ read and I just want t’ know if I can trust him,” I admitted. Uncle Lachlan knew I could instantly decipher auras and identify a person’s origin. He didn’t know I also possessed Soul Sight. So, I wasn’t surprised when he assumed I was referring to Cian’s aura.
“How much time did ye spend with Mr. McCallister?”
“About an hour, last night at the café. At Nira’s recommendation, I stopped in for a bite and coffee.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his lap.
I waited. Not so patiently, but I waited for him to continue his response.
“Ya know, Aisling, Cian McCallister isn’t yer typical Pyreshore resident,” he disclosed.
“Please explain,” I requested.
“It’s not a simple explanation. But if yer main concern is whether or not ye can trust him, then I have only two things t’ offer . . . In my own experiences with Mr. McCallister, I can say that I have ne’er heard even a whisper of a reason t’ distrust him or his word. Also, in all matters, trust yer heart, m’dear. Ye have everything ye need to help ye find the right path.”
I angled my head and tightened my glare for a moment at Uncle Lach’s mention of the right path, but I brushed off the coincidence as it was more likely that the phrase was one both Grams and Uncle Lach had heard growing up. They were just passing it along to me as the sole heir.
I finally nodded my head slowly, considering Uncle Lachlan’s opinion and advice but not yet sure as to how it would influence whether I offered my trust.
“Do ye mind if I ask why ye need to know if ye can trust Mr. McCallister?” Uncle Lachlan inquired.
I needed to talk to someone, but who do you talk to when you aren’t sure who you can trust.
“Well, I’m having breakfast with him in—” I glanced to the clock. “Fourteen minutes. And I simply wanted to have some idea as to how much trust I should allow someone when I can’t read them.”
“I do find it unusual that you can’t read someone, but I can personally vouch for Cian, if that is, in fact, all ye needed t’ know.”
“I’m sure there will be more, but that does help set my mind at ease. Thank you,” I stated while rising from my comfy spot in the chair.
“I’m not sure how much actual help I have offered, but ye are welcome, lass.”
“I appreciate your time, Uncle Lach. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“Aye, lass. Red Harp Diner, say around seven?”
“Sounds good.”
“Well, ye best get going so ye won’t be late fer breakfast. Punctuality is important. Please, tell Cian I said hello.”
I nodded an acknowledgement, eased into the hallway, and walked to my car without even a sliver of solid information on Cian McCallister. What I did learn was that Uncle Lachlan was holding out on me.
Eleven
When I arrived at The Black Cat Café, it appeared closed. Every picture window that had showcased the view from the inside looking out was covered with a pull-down shade. Cian greeted me at the door as though he’d been standing there watching for me to arrive.
“G’ mornin’, Sunshine,” he offered. “You’re right on time.”
“And you expected otherwise?” I replied. “Thank you,” I added as he held the door for me to pass through. He stopped to lock the door, both physically and otherwise. I pretended not to pay attention.
Breakfast was already spread out and waiting on a table near the bar. Immediately, I thought of Uncle Lachlan’s comment about punctuality and, for some reason, the sense that he knew more than he had let on played in my mind once more.
“Wow, this looks amazing,” I admitted, looking from the stack of pancakes to a plate of bacon and a bowl of fresh strawberries and pineapple.
“Let’s just hope it tastes as good as it looks,” he joked. “Also, I hope you don’t have an aversion t’ carbs.”
“Nope. They are my favorite food group,” I said. And I meant it.
“Good,” he laughed. “Please, sit down. I’ll get some fresh coffee. Apologies, it doesn’t have whiskey this morning,” he said as he made his way toward the coffee pot.
“I’m just hoping I don’t feel like I need whiskey,” I said under my breath.
“Hey, I heard that,” he called from behind the bar.
“Impressive hearing.”
“Family trait,” he said as he returned and poured the hot coffee into the same mug I’d used the night before. “I noticed you seemed to like this mug, so I made sure it was washed and ready for you.”
He was observant. More observant than I had given him credit for.
“Thank you. What else did you notice?” I asked as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
He squared himself across from me, settled his elbows and clasped his hands together, then looked intently at me. I could have sworn he stared straight into my soul. I found myself wondering if others felt a similar sensation when I read them. Did they feel like their breath had been pushed from their lungs and the ability to speak had been stripped away? I had never considered that Soul Sight might cause some type of physical reaction. Of course, I couldn’t think of a single time I had locked eyes with someone quite so intently to read them, either.
“I don’t think we have enough time for me t’ list everything I’ve noticed about you, Aisling O’Cléirigh,” he remarked with a seriousness that lurked just behind his smile.
His husky tone sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself trying to recover quickly. Not sure what to say, I opted for saying nothing and reached for the small carafe of coffee creamer. I glanced up to find him gazing at me with a satisfied smirk. I tried to ignore him and stir my coffee.
“So, are ya going t’ stare at me like that all morning or are we going t’ eat those pancakes before they get cold?” I posed.
A low chuckle stirred in his chest. “By all means, let’s eat.”
He held out the plate of pancakes; I selected two from the top of the stack and plopped them on my plate then scooped some fruit from the bowl and placed it in the small side dish to my left. In gentlemanly fashion, he set the syrup close to me and waited for me to get my fill while he set up his own plate. When I took the first bite, I almost cussed. They were the best pancakes I’d ever tasted.
“Oh-my-great. Okay, I have t’ ask. First the soup and coffee last night, now the pancakes. What kind of magic are you using in this café?” I mumbled with a mouth
ful of food. Lady-like, I know.
He broke out in full-on laughter, giving him an entirely different appearance—one that was even more attractive. Damn him. “No magic. At least, none that I’m aware of,” he added.
We ate for a few minutes before he broke the silence. “So, let’s have it. I know you have questions for me. I’d prefer ya ask while you’re on a carb induced high. In case ya don’t like my answers,” he winked lightheartedly.
I nodded, took a sip of coffee, and sat up straight. “Very well, how did a bar owner—that would be you, in case ya happen t’ be wonderin’ who I mean—who lived on another continent, know who I was? By name, but apparently not by face?” I asked and then steadied my mind so that no matter what his answer, I was prepared to maintain as little reaction as possible.
“Like I said, that’s what I like about ya, Aish. Right for the jugular, no holdin’ back.” He pulled a swig from his coffee and sat his mug down. “First, kudos on doin’ your homework,” he offered a nod presumably referring to my learning he owned Rocky’s Tavern. “Last night, I promised ya I’d give my trust first, and so I shall. I’m not just a bar owner. Though, I suspect you’ve likely questioned that already.”
I gave him a knowing head shake as I took another bite of breakfast.
“I work for an organization that operates under the radar, much like Natra does.” He paused as if he were waiting for my reaction to his awareness of Natra. I made a mental note, naturally.
I kept eating and listening. Shoveling food was a great distraction method.
“We’ve been aware of The Saiad for quite some time. About a year ago, someone we had on the inside mentioned a woman who had been feeding information t’ one of their higher ups. Her name was Ashlyn O’Connor. Maybe you’ve heard of her,” he grinned and watched me.
When he mentioned my alias, I managed to avoid spitting my coffee across the table at him, but I didn’t manage to avoid almost choking as it went down the wrong pipe. I recovered and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Aye,” I nodded my head, “I do believe I’ve heard the name.” I played along and then hid subtly behind my coffee mug, taking another sip.
Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Page 9