by Mina Carter
He had already stepped toward her, and towered over her as he asked, “Did ye have a nice time in Dunglebury?” The question was deeper than the words implied, and as he waited for her reply, his deep blue eyes got darker. She fancied she could see midnight in their depths, the kind of midnight where she lay beneath him on the earth, looking up at the stars.
“I did,” Chaz managed to answer as she blotted out such fancies.
Again there was a question in his gaze that over-rode what he was asking. “Ye must be hungry—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I, er, well…I—we—were having coffee you see, and well, the next thing we knew…it turned out to be lunchtime and so…no thank you, I have already eaten.” Did she look as ridiculous as she sounded she wondered.
“We, Chaz?” Dark brows lifted, and his blue eyes searched her face.
“Oh. We, yes, I bumped into—and I mean that literally—into Dr. Dunboyne who has partnered up with Dr. John. You must know him, John McGraw? He was a friend of my parents, and also our doctor when we stayed in Dunglebury.” She babbled on. She didn’t need to explain…why was she explaining?
“Aye. I count John McGraw a friend as well. I was surprised when I discovered he had taken on a partner. He had never mentioned wanting to semi-retire to me.” He shrugged and added, “However, I have heard about the new Dr. Dunboyne. The villagers seem to like him.”
“Yes, how could they not? He is so very nice.”
“Is he now?” Low and thick, his Irish brogue was full of unspoken meaning, she could not yet fathom. “First encounters are, however, only first encounters.”
What the heck did he mean by that? McBain moved in on her. The room vanished and her sight was filled with a big, predatory man. Tall and solidly built, he still seemed to occupy more space than he should. His presence created its own pulse in the air around him. He exuded raw, sensual vibrations as he moved in so close to her that she clamored for air. He had her shoulders, and one hand slipped to her waist.
What is he doing?
Chaz discovered she had no will of her own as he drew her up against his sculptured, hard body. “Be careful with strangers, lass.”
“Including you?” Chaz was amazed that she had retorted at all.
“Aye. Especially me.” Releasing her, he strode past and opened the front door. Exiting, he left her standing in the central hall alone. A shiver wiggled its way up her spine.
She heard the jeep start up and take off down the drive. Hmmm. He was keeping her stranded at home? No doubt he thought she had done enough wandering for one day.
****
Not long after Jethro’s departure, Chaz took another tour of the manor. Her emotions were off balance, her mind confused. Thoughts slammed into one another and she wanted the buzzing in her head to stop. Time wagged a finger at her. Desperation to accomplish her goals demanded action.
She had actually taunted him—Dark X—and he had appeared (sort of). Thinking back on it now, she didn’t know how she didn’t collapse during or after the alarming meeting.
The mantra looping in her head smashed into her, repeating that he had tortured and killed her parents. How could she do anything but stand her ground until she moved onto his?
When she had first lost her parents, she strolled about in a fog until she woke up and decided she was going to find their killer. The investigation kept her going. She didn’t find a whole lot of information. Bits and pieces presented themselves. The detectives on the case tried, but they weren’t able to get anywhere. Her grandmother needed her and she had to attend to her, which slowed her down, but she did find out a thing or two. One important fact the lead detective in New York had written in his paperwork was the fact that he had reason to believe the crime was that of a copycat serial killer that dated back to l954.
Apparently, in the small town of Bladenboro, not far from her home in Wilmington, North Carolina, farm animals and pets had been viciously slaughtered and their bodies drained of blood. The local police had been stumped and hoped it would not escalate. It had. Within a short space of time after they found the butchered animals, two girls were found in the same condition, a week apart. Drained of blood, they were left on the side of a country road.
It stopped all at once and had become a forgotten cold case, until six months ago. Before her parents had been killed, two more girls, again a week apart had been murdered, and drained of blood, this time in New York. The police were very careful to withhold the blood-draining information from the press, as they didn’t want the tabloids crying vampire.
Chaz managed to pilfer this information from the detective’s file with a little white magic. The magic allowed a look at the entire police report when she sat waiting for the detective to return to his desk. When this was done, as painful as it had been, she knew what the police knew: not much.
Enough. That was then, when she was still helpless. Not helpless any longer. So…stop flash-backing. Crazy town that way. Go the other way. Chaz sighed and put memories on hold as she glanced around. Meandering through the lovely mansion quelled her nerves. It was, in spite of its hugeness, a warm and welcoming home.
There was something that whispered family about the place. Affection and respect for what had been before showed in the care and placement of the antiques throughout the house. The deep, rich, earthy colors gave her a sense of tradition and history. Portraits of ancestors adorned the halls: beautiful daughters, wives, and outrageously handsome men. Good looks are in his genes.
A quiet but secure power throbbed in the walls, which matched the present day enigmatic lord of Brionn.
She touched a few of the ancient pieces of furniture and couldn’t help but breathe an ahh or two as she passed by them. She stood amongst artifacts and furniture that dated back centuries and she felt as though she had been transported back in time.
Chaz loved it—ridiculous, but the feel of kinship within the house drew her in. Stupid girl.
She scoffed and warned herself, You’re off in dreamland again. A traditional gal by nature, she had more often than not thought she had been born in the wrong century. Her generation always rushed here and there, entrenched with tweeting, texting, frenzied about politically correct this and that and forgetting to stop—to pause and notice what was important.
She had always felt out of place, out of time with her friends. She would listen, ooh and ahh over her girlfriends’ sexual exploits, but she could never connect. What she wanted, what she needed, sounded so off-base even to herself.
Chaz sighed and shoved her thoughts aside. Although she hadn’t meant to work today, she opened the doors of the library. For a long moment, all she could do was stare. Everywhere she looked showed shelves upon shelves of books. A staircase at the far end of the enormous room led to a second floor, sort of a long and narrow walkway. Designed as a loft area, it sported a black wrought iron railing. That second floor housed books to the high ceiling with a sliding ladder should one be so inclined to use it.
“Whoa!” Chaz whispered aloud. “This is going to take me a year, not a summer.” Staring at the array of books of every size and shape, she had a sinking feeling she was going to need help.
A great deal of help.
She went over to the large computer desk and was pleased to see that although she loved antiques, the computer was up-to-date.
Whew—okay, lots to do. She sat at the desk to take stock. There was a printer and a fax. Yup, nearly fully equipped. Later she would see about getting a C-Pen Text and Bar Code Reader to scan the book title and information into the database.
She wondered a moment because she hadn’t yet asked, what sort of business Jethro McBain was in besides the obvious business of being super rich.
A stack of oversized leather-bound texts piled up in one corner caught her eye, and as she got halfway up and reached for one. She miscalculated its weight and the large maroon tome slipped from her grip and knocked into the others. They all went thumping loudly down on the darkly design
ed oriental carpet at her feet.
Hands on hips she clicked her tongue at herself as she bent to retrieve them. A local newspaper and a piece of paper with a name had fallen out from one of the larger books. She glanced at the scrap of paper which had the name Mulrone scribbled across it and wondered who Mulrone could be. She picked it up with the newspaper and noticed that it was last month’s issue. Odd—why keep the outdated thing?
Shrugging she started to put it back on the desk when the front page loomed large and caught her attention. Heinous Murders in Coastal Villages.
What? She knew about the three ritual murders just on the outskirts of Dublin. Had the killer moved now into the smaller villages? Why? What would make him take a chance of being exposed? Small villages kept more of an eye to everyday occurrences. The locals, no matter how infinitesimally out of the ordinary something might be, would notice and chatter. Did this actually speak to the size of Dark X’s ego? Did he think himself so skilled he was untouchable? Was it him? Oh yes, she was sure of it.
She quickly perused the article. The words seemed to leap off the page in horrifying detail. Unthinkable crimes against farm animals of all kinds, including pets, had been committed at weekly intervals along the coastal farmlands. Again she stopped to think. Why had he gone back to savaging animals? He had already progressed to humans. Why? To terrorize? Yes, because he was arrogant and full of himself.
She re-read how he had left the poor innocent creatures horribly torn apart and bloodless. And then, she thought as she gritted her teeth, he returned to what he really wanted, what he really needed: humans. Women in particular.
The killings progressed and escalated to women, (and the reporter was certain the garda believed it was the work of the same madman). He had gone on to torture, kill, and drain two prostitutes of their life’s blood and left one dumped in an alley in the village of Swordington. A week later, another prostitute in Swordington had been drained of blood and dumped on the steps of a church. A week after that, yet, another young woman was killed in the same heinous way as she walked home from work at a local shop in the early evening hours in yet another small coastal community—and that community, Chaz realized, was only thirty miles south of Dunglebury.
Chaz knew of no dark ritual that required so much blood and at weekly intervals. This was more than a ritual. He was feeding the blood to something…a demon? What had he been promised in return? Or had he evolved from human somehow into demon?
Chaz closed her eyes and swore under her breath.
She knew this sorcerer was the reason her parents had come to Ireland before their deaths six months ago. She knew they were investigating his vicious emergence in the more northerly parts of Ireland where only animals had been slaughtered. She knew that they feared it would escalate. Did they know how very far he would take his obsession?
Did her mother know that his level of black magic was steeped in the need for human blood? Did she speculate that he was working with a demon from another dimension? What was she missing here? And she was missing something. Because Chaz knew it, sensed it, felt it, she was missing his true motive.
Every spell, every incantation, everything that called on magic had an ultimate goal and payment if one was not careful. What was his? Was it power, as Grams had suggested? Then why kill her mother?
Had her parents figured out who he might be?
She was deep in thought and didn’t hear the clatter of footsteps approach. Suddenly Chaz saw something out of the corner of her eye and released a squeak. Upon closer inspection, her hand went to her heart and with some relief she realized that no demon had materialized unexpectedly.
A tall, robust woman of uncertain mature years dressed in a brown walking suit and comfortable shoes stood in the doorway beaming a smile at her.
“Good day to ye, Miss Donnelly—I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ye—that I didn’t.”
Chaz calmed herself. “Of course you didn’t.” She managed a smile while wondering who this woman could be. She got up out of her chair.
The woman smoothed her short grayish-brown hair behind her ears and stepped to meet her, her hand extended. “I am Molly Brandon, the dowager Lady McBain’s companion…and friend.”
Chaz welcomed her with a smile and offered her hand to Molly who shook it in happy style before letting go. “Hi. I am so glad to meet you.”
“Well then. The dowager thought ye might like a cup of tea and some company. We take our tea at three and we’ll be that happy to have ye lighten up our day. Sunday is always a dull, quiet time, and it will be so nice to have yer young self visit, that it will.” Molly stepped toward the desk, and waved her hand dismissively. “Och child, ye shouldn’t be working on yer very first full day here—it be Sunday and all. Would ye like to walk back to my lady’s cottage with me?”
Chaz sighed gratefully. She wasn’t sure she would ever be normal again, but taking tea with Jethro’s sweet old grandmother was just what she needed because she was missing her own so very dearly. Besides, truth to tell, she was curious about Jethro McBain’s granny.
The old saying about the apple not falling too far from the tree was an adage she could test and that might prove interesting.
Chapter Seven
THE CLOCK READ nearly five when Chaz took her jovial leave of Molly and Lady McBain. What a wonderful end to her first full day at Brionn.
Fresh Irish air swirled around her as she walked back to the manor house and mentally reviewed her visit with Jethro McBain’s feisty grandmother.
An interesting and uplifting, visit. She quickly realized she had fallen under the dowager’s charming spell. The woman showed an amazing sleight of hand as she brought Chaz out from under her personal dark cloud. The dowager’s warm offer of friendship had pleasantly encased Chaz and put her at ease.
Laura McBain easily made her laugh from the gut with some of her outrageous anecdotes, and Chaz left feeling comforted. Even so, there was no getting away from the fact that Chaz had known at once what the dowager really was.
Subtle but powerful magic trickled through the cottage’s atmosphere, and was entrenched even in the walls of the charming cottage. White magic illuminated Laura McBain like a halo. Even Molly seemed to be laced with its silver sparkle.
Her grams had given up magic, her coven, and most of her old acquaintances, and yet, perhaps her grams hadn’t been too shy to call in a favor. Chaz was sure her job at Brionn was contrived.
Witty and elegant, the dowager exuded social grace. Laura McBain was gracious, and for her age, amazingly agile. Everything about the older woman spelled sincerity and Chaz liked her in an instant.
However, and there it was, the however, Chaz couldn’t help but feel suspicious. Magic was prevalent and strong. Chaz told herself she had to be on the alert. Something mysterious had underlined their conversation during her visit and she couldn’t fathom what that might be.
Once, she even felt the dowager attempt to scan her. She hadn’t been able to of course. No one Chaz knew of (not even her mother) had been able to get through her shields. Chaz had learned quite a great deal from her Fae grandfather. Her mother had run and turned her back on her royal Fae heritage, but Chaz loved all things Fae as a child. She still longed to see him again. It hurt to think that he had shifted back to his world in Faery and forgotten her.
This thought lanced through with a sharp jab. Closing down the memory, she shook her head. She had other things to think about. Like the sparkle of dormant power when she touched the dowager’s hand. Oh yeah, she was a white witch all right, but was she a practicing white witch? And was the jolly Molly a part of her coven?
The residue of power indicated that a coven had met at the dowager’s cottage not so very long ago.
Had this been her mother’s coven?
She would have to proceed with caution. She didn’t want them to know she was in Ireland to find the black sorcerer that killed her parents. If the dowager McBain was her dear grandmother’s friend, she would no
doubt report all wayward activities to her grams, and she couldn’t have her grams upset and worried.
With a smile, Chaz recalled the dream-catcher hanging over the sofa. “Indian legend says that it will keep away bad dreams…do you find it so?”
“I don’t quite know, I never sleep on this sofa.” Laura McBain laughed. “My grandson brought it back from one of his travels—I liked the look of it.”
Chaz was not fooled. The Indian relic radiated vibrant magic, the kind that warded against evil.
Yes, she liked the dowager, but she knew she must not discount the dowager’s magic. She wondered if Jethro had inherited his grandmother’s power. Was that what she sensed? Could he own magic without being a warlock? Recurring question—what was he?
Witches, both white and dark, share the view that black magic was the more potent of the two powers. Not so. White magic, when used properly, could skillfully hold black magic at bay. Always. One must know the trick of it.
Coincidences like this didn’t happen. What were the odds of her working for a family steeped in magic? Zilch. Grams, has it occurred to you that your careful plan has backfired? Did you know that Dark X was not in New York, but here in Brionn right? Did you send me here for protection, knowing I was coming after him? Because I think the dowager McBain knows the beast is near.
Chaz liked the dowager, but she was not fooled. The older woman had not been totally forthcoming. Chaz hoped to draw Lady McBain into conversation about the locals. A history of the residents might be what she needed.
Halfway up the drive, she heard the hum of an engine at her back and looked ’round to find McBain slowly gaining on her in his silver Porsche.
Fleetingly she wondered where her jeep was and realized he must have garaged it for her. Thoughtful. Is that why he did it? To spare me the trouble?
She realized in that moment the extent of her mistrust of him. She was seeing motives within motives. A quiver of anticipation sped through her veins as he pulled up to her. Stop trembling every single time he is around!