by Joyce Lavene
Meeting Aine had been part of that experience. She’d hoped the beane sidhe would stay on as her associate. Her strength and determination had also played a part in making sure Sunshine had survived the harpy. The last thing she remembered was seeing Aine’s face before she’d held her tight and taken her to Wilmington. She really didn’t want to lose that friendship. Why would she have disappeared, even out of O’Neill’s life, after she’d come so far to find him?
The answer was obvious, of course, to everyone but Aine herself. Sunshine briefly wondered where she’d gone, but that too seemed to have an easy answer.
She glanced at Mr. Bad’s office again and questioned if he’d return. She had a million things to say to him. But he wouldn’t be as easy as Aine to find.
“Sunshine?” Jane asked, moving so she was in her face. “Are you going shopping? It’s been days since I had any cereal.”
“Sure. I’m going shopping, and then I’m going to get O’Neill. Can you keep things going for just a little longer? I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Jane nibbled at her fingernail. “Okay. Will you drop the food off first?”
* * *
Police detectives Sean O’Neill and Sharon Malto were bringing in a man who’d been wanted for the last ten years. He was accused of killing his best friend, a man he’d grown up with. They’d received a good tip on a cold case that was going to make their captain smile.
As they were dragging the man up the stairs and into the Norfolk Police Office, Sunshine Merryweather appeared next to O’Neill and tapped him on the shoulder.
He almost lost his grip on the struggling killer. “Hey. Can’t you just walk up like everyone else? I’m busy. Maybe later.”
“Is she back again?” Malto demanded in an irritated tone. “I think she gave me the flu. You know, you’re gonna get a reputation if you go out with a new girlfriend every other week.”
“We need to take a road trip,” Sunshine said, her eyes focused on O’Neill. “There’s someone who needs to see you.”
“Aine? Did you find her?”
“Another one?” Malto said. “Forget it. You’ve already gone past having a reputation.”
“I know where she is. She won’t come back unless we go get her.”
The happy expression on O’Neill’s face disappeared. “I’m not dragging her back here if she doesn’t want to be my beane sidhe anymore. I was getting through life just fine without her singing my death song every five minutes and changing back and forth on what she looks like. Besides, I’ve got work to do.”
“This will only take a few minutes,” Sunshine assured him. “I’m sure Detective Malto would be glad to do the paperwork on this perp for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Malto questioned. “I’m not doing the paperwork so Romeo here can go find some other lovesick female to hang out with.”
“I won’t make you go, O’Neill,” Sunshine said. “If you say no and mean it, I’m out of here. But you’ll regret it the rest of whatever life you have.”
He stared into her flashing eyes. “I know. I’ve known since that first night in my apartment.”
“Okay. That’s enough for me. I don’t want to know any more.” Malto grabbed the killer by the scruff of his neck. “Come on, you. I’d rather do the paperwork than have to hear about O’Neill’s weird love life.”
Sunshine smiled and thanked Detective Malto. “How are you feeling? I hope you got over the flu without any other complications.”
“Yeah. I feel okay. I’ve had a few strange dreams about flying, and I keep smelling sage. But otherwise, I’m good. Get out of here, O’Neill. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He went with Sunshine toward the side of the building until they found a quiet spot near a dumpster. She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Before we go, my car hasn’t been released from impound,” she told him. “How much longer is that going to take?”
“Considering that I can’t tell anyone what really happened and Irene Godfrey’s death remains unsolved, I’d say three to six months.”
“Anything you can do to speed it up?”
“This isn’t a parking ticket, Sunshine. It takes what it takes.”
“Just checking. Okay. Let’s go.”
A few minutes later, O’Neill found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. Parts of a once great castle, now abandoned and falling to rubble, towered near him. The ruins were set on a hill overlooking a large body of water. The stones were covered in emerald green moss and tiny, purple flowers. Trees and shrubs grew up between the stones and lichen that covered almost everything else.
He checked his cell phone—no signal. Sunshine was gone. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing there except for a single imperative—bring his beane sidhe back where she belonged. “All I have to do is figure out how to find her.” But he didn’t have to worry about searching for her. It only took a moment for Aine to feel his presence.
“Castle O’Neill, I guess.” He shrugged and glanced around himself. “Is that the ocean over there?”
“Shane’s Castle,” she corrected. “Built in 1345 by a member of the O’Neill family. The name was changed in 1722 by Shane McBrien O’Neill. The loch is Loch Neagh. Your ancestor, Hugh O’Neill, left here in 1730 aboard a ship bound for America. But this was his home.”
“Amazing! His eyes stayed on her.
“But you did not come for a history lesson. What are you doing here?” She also glanced around. “Did Sunshine bring you to this place?”
“Yes. And I’m not sure how I’m going to get back—I didn’t bring my passport. I guess I’ll appeal to the U.S. Embassy and tell them I was mugged or something. Better that than flying anywhere with her again. That witch is crazy.”
He smiled as he spoke to her, his gaze resting lightly on her face, happy to see her.
“I understand how you came, but I do not understand why you are here, O’Neill.”
“You can’t stay here.” He swallowed hard and then launched into the rest of it. “I need you with me, right? How else am I going to learn the secrets of the beane sidhe and have someone warn me when I’m about to die? How will I get to the underworld?”
She looked away from him toward the distant shore. “With your work, I would be singing to warn you of death every day. I fear I am not up to the task. Go home. Be fortunate in your life. I shall be at your side when you die.”
Aine turned away from him. There was as much for her here in the rotting pile of stone as there was in Norfolk. This wasn’t her home either, but she had no wish to be disgraced in her final task for the family she served.
O’Neill took her hand, and she immediately became the young queen—innocent and vulnerable—before she had been a wife and a mother, before she was a warrior that had led her people.
“I want to get to know you.” She started to speak, but he kept going. “I know this isn’t the real you anymore, yada, yada, yada. I don’t care. Yes, I like seeing you like this, but I want to know those other parts of you too.”
“To what end?” Tears misted her eyes. “I have been dead longer than this castle. I am the harbinger of death. Why would you want to spend time with me?”
He moved closer to her, careful not to release her hand, and touched her beautiful face, catching a lock of her fiery red hair with his fingers. “Because I’ve never met anyone like you, and I want to know everything you can teach me. I want to be with you, Aine. Is that so difficult to believe?”
“No. You should be with your own. You should fall in love and marry, produce many offspring. My heart cannot bear another loss.”
“I thought you wanted me to die and get it over with so you’d be free of your curse.”
“Aye. That is what I want.” She put her hand on his face and smiled back at him. “But I fear that would be more painful to me right now than lying in my tomb without knowing you.”
“Great. So we have an understanding. No dire warnings of death while I’m work
ing, and you don’t step between me and the bullet unless you have some prior knowledge that it’s going to kill me.”
“I shall do my best.” She laughed at him dictating terms to her, but she was glad to go back with him to that other foolish world. “And you, O’Neill, will do your best to live a long, prosperous life.”
“You bet.” He lightly kissed her lips. “Probably not as long as yours, but maybe Sunshine can give me a magic youth booster every now and again. And when we go, we both go.”
“That may be so.” Her smile showed a small dimple in her chin.
“Let’s go.” He scratched his head. “It’s gonna take me a while to get out of Ireland.”
She put her arms around him and carefully drew him close. “No, O’Neill. It will take little time at all. Hold on to me.”
“With pleasure.”
* * *
Six weeks later, Sunshine Merryweather was reading the newspaper and swearing at it—her usual habit in the morning when there were no clients in the outer office.
“Bad news?” Jane set a cup of tea on the desk in front of her.
“They’re going to be working on the road out here in front of the office for the next six months. I’m going to have to buy a cover for my car so it doesn’t stay dusty all the time. Not to mention that the one-way parking is bad enough on Brooke Street without them tearing it up.”
“Could you not simply keep the dust from the vehicle with magic?” Aine joined them in her black cloak.
“I could, but it’s a waste of my energy to keep up with something like that.” Sunshine put down the newspaper and took a sip of tea. “Here’s a news flash I wanted both of you to see.”
She pointed at the glass board that appeared. “It seems Elena Spiros has taken a turn for the worse in her career.”
The beautiful artist was shown on the screen as she was arrested for art fraud at the D. C. celebration of her work.
A sallow-faced newsman narrated. “Miss Spiros was arrested when judges found that her original paintings had been done over stolen art that has been missing from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.” The news announcer filled in the details. “She could serve up to one hundred years for the theft. Spiros had risen quickly to fame by receiving one of the largest grants ever given by the National Endowment for the Arts.”
“An interesting and cunning retribution,” Aine acknowledged.
“We couldn’t get her any other way,” Sunshine said. “But at least she won’t walk free after having those people killed.”
Aine’s cell phone rang. She briefly studied it and then threw it on the floor. “I shall not learn to carry this infernal device as O’Neill requests. No one needs to communicate with another so dearly.”
Jane hurried to pick up the phone and tapped the screen to answer the call. “Purple Door Detective Agency.”
“Why are you answering this, Jane?” O’Neill asked. “Put Aine on.”
“She threw it on the floor again,” Jane said. “Is there something you want me to tell her?”
“Yeah. Tell them both. Someone ran into a creature downtown. I don’t want to speculate on what it is, but it looks part dragon and part man. He’s not dead. Not even injured as far as I can tell. I think this should be right down your alley. I’m here now. Come on down and join the media circus.”
“Tell him we are arriving shortly,” Aine said.
“She said—”
“I heard. Tell her—”
Sunshine waved her hand at the phone, and it went dead. “You two need a secretary. You can’t have Jane. Come on. Let’s go. I hope that isn’t Caeford. I’d hate to lose his monthly account.”
“Don’t forget that we need cereal,” Jane called out from the kitchen.
“I won’t forget,” Sunshine said as she started to follow Aine out of the building.
A warm breeze floated past her. It smelled of summer and sea. She glanced sharply toward the office that had been empty since the day the harpy had almost killed her. The door had remained open, but now it was tightly closed.
She smiled as she walked by it, laying her hand against it.
“Are you changing clothes again?” Aine asked from the front door. “I do not understand why you feel the urge to use different clothing every day.”
“Not changing clothes. And I’m right behind you. I just had to say hello to an old friend.”
About the Authors
Joyce and Jim Lavene write award-winning, bestselling mystery and urban fantasy fiction as themselves, J.J. Cook, and Ellie Grant. Their first mystery novel, Last Dance, won the Master’s Choice Award for best first mystery novel in 1999. Their romance, Flowers in the Night, was nominated for the Frankfurt Book Award in 2000.
They have written and published more than 70 novels for Harlequin, Penguin, Amazon, and Simon and Schuster that are sold worldwide. They have also published hundreds of non-fiction articles for national and regional publications. They live in Midland, North Carolina with their family and their rescue pets—Rudi, Stan Lee, and Quincy.
Visit them at:
www.joyceandjimlavene.com
www.facebook.com/joyceandjimlavene
http://amazon.com/author/jlavene
https://twitter.com/AuthorJLavene
Table of Contents
Be My Banshee
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
About the Authors