Liar's Moon

by Kate Sweeney

  Malone chuckled as he tied the boat to the mooring and jumped out. He offered his hand to Grayson, who took it and jumped onto the dock, as well. “Okay, lead on.”

  Malone scratched his head as he peered through the fog.

  “Do not tell me you don’t know where this place is,” Grayson said in a threatening voice.

  Malone laughed again. “Oh, hold your horses, lass. It’s been years since I’ve been on these islands. But I swear—”

  “Ah, ah, Malone. Watch what you say.” Grayson walked ahead of Malone and off the dock. In the distance, she heard the shorebirds screeching, but through the fog, she couldn’t see one. “I don’t suppose we can get a car.”

  “I doubt it,” Malone said, looking around. He then smiled and pointed. “But I’ll wager we can use that.”

  Grayson looked in the direction and saw a cart with a lone horse. In the cart was a large metal container.

  “It’s a milk cart,” Malone said as if reading her mind. “Let me go and see if the owner is around.”

  “Do not steal that cart,” Grayson called quietly as he walked away.

  She heard him laugh as he waved his hand in the air. She watched as he disappeared into the stone building. As she looked around through the fog, she shook her head. “This was such a dumb idea. What the hell kind of an immortal am I anyway?” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and absently kicked at the sand pebbles and seashells. She looked up when she heard Malone call to her and jogged over to the horse-drawn cart.

  “We’re in luck,” he said, beaming.

  Grayson gave her a wary glance. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Don’t be pessimistic. The gentleman who owns the cart has to deliver this milk to the house down the road. I convinced him we would do it for him and rent his cart for the day.”

  “That’s awfully nice of him…”

  He held out his hand, and Grayson hung her head and dug once again in her pocket. Malone plucked out two bills and walked back into the store.

  “There is someone who might know more about the sister.” Malone jumped into the cart. Grayson got in the opposite side. Malone gently slapped the rein against the horse.

  Grayson waited and waited as they rode the milk cart down the road. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “There’s an old woman at the other end of the island. She worked at the convent for many years.”

  “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “I doubt it.” He gave Grayson an innocent look. “Unless, of course, I was to go with ya.”

  “And if I paid you enough.”

  “True, true.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure I don’t have it on me. I can get it to you when we get back. You thief.”

  “I think you’re good for it. Let’s go.”

  Malone rode through town, then down the narrow road that hugged the edge of the island. Grayson was captivated by the rugged Atlantic as the waves lapped onto the rocky shoreline.

  “What’s this woman’s name?” Grayson asked as they raced down the road.

  “Her name is Abigail McGill, she goes by Irene.”

  “But everyone knew her as Nancy.”

  “N-no, Irene.”

  “Skip it.”

  He slowed down as he pulled up to a very old-looking cottage. The thatching seemed new, but it needed a good coat of paint. “Let me do the talkin’ first,” he said as he got out of the cart.

  “Fine.” Grayson followed him up the path to the front door.

  “Who’s out there?” a gravelly voice called out.

  “It’s Malone, Irene.”

  “Who’s that man with you?”

  Grayson raised an eyebrow and Malone chuckled. “This is Miss Grayson MacCarthaigh. She has a few questions about the nuns at the convent. Can we come in?”

  He stepped back when the door opened. An old woman poked her head out, nearly causing Grayson to laugh at the owl-like expression. “Come in then.”

  Like most Irish cottages, it had that earthy aroma of a peat fire. It was a small cottage. The living room consisted of two cushioned chairs and a table in between with a lamp on it situated in front of the fireplace that nearly took up the entire wall. Grayson could see the old woman used that as an oven, as well. A black pot hung over the burning peat bricks. Grayson smelled the aroma of bread; her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day.

  The old woman was about five feet tall if that. Her stark white hair was quite a contrast with the black wool shawl draped around her shoulders, covering the dark wool dress. But Grayson took notice of her eyes. They were crystal blue and sparkling.

  Irene and Grayson regarded each other for a moment. It was then Grayson knew—she knew this woman.

  Irene narrowed her eyes in speculation. “You seem familiar to me, young lady.” She glanced at the confused look on Malone’s face. “Come into the kitchen. There’s more room.” She leaned on her cane and led them down the small hallway.

  Grayson followed without question. Malone trailed behind.

  “Sit down,” she ordered. “I just put the kettle on for tea. Malone, get the cups if you would.” She sat and let out a tired groan, then looked at Grayson, but said nothing. She turned to Malone and spoke in Gaelic.

  Grayson inwardly grinned as she listened to Irene ask Malone where Grayson was from and why she wanted to know about the nun. Before Malone responded, Grayson spoke to the woman in Gaelic, telling her who she was and where she was from.

  The look of surprise on Irene’s face was satisfying to Grayson. “We can continue in Gaelic if you like.”

  “You’re a smart one,” Irene said with a laugh.

  Malone brought the teapot to the table with three cups. “The bread is in the pot over the fireplace. It should be done.”

  “I’ll get it, Irene.”

  He came back with the cast iron pot and put it on the counter. The heavenly aroma filled the kitchen as he took it out and placed it on the board.

  “Thank you, Malone.” Irene poured the tea for each. “We’ll let it cool. Now tell me why ya want to know about Sister Gabriel.”

  Grayson toyed with the teacup and took a drink of the strong tea before answering. “She might be involved in something at the monastery, and I would like to know more about her. Like how she came to the convent here and why.”

  Irene exchanged glances with Malone; so did Grayson. Irene leaned in. “Before I tell ya anything, I want to know exactly who you are.”

  “Fair enough.” Grayson looked at Malone. “I’m worried to involve anyone in this. But I will tell you all I can.” She looked down at her left palm and ran her fingers over the crescent-shaped scar. How in the hell could she tell them about this? Where would she start?

  She looked up to see Irene staring at her left hand. “Malone. Leave us, please.”

  He looked startled. “Are you sure, Irene?”

  “Yes. Go now and do not come back here. It will be night soon and not safe to drive.”

  “But what about Grayson…?”

  Irene looked at Grayson, who felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle from the intense look in Irene’s blue eyes. “She’ll be fine. Go on with ya now.”

  As Malone stood, Irene reached over and touched his arm. “Thank you, Malone.”

  “Not to worry. I’ve got a pail of milk to deliver anyway. I believe I’m leaving ya in good hands.” He looked at Grayson and nodded. “I will be at the dock tomorrow to take ya back to the mainland.”

  “Thanks.” Grayson shook his hand.

  Then he was gone, and they sat in silence.

  “I know who you are,” Irene said in a low voice.

  “How do you know?” Grayson asked, knowing full well how. She rubbed the fingers of her left hand against her palm, trying to ignore how her entire body tingled.

  “I sat by the fire the other night and had what I expect was some sort of vision. You were making coffee in a pot by the fire, and we looked right at each
other. I asked who you were, and the vision faded like the morning fog. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “And you have these visions often? Because I never have. It terrified me, let me tell you.”

  Grayson hesitated, not knowing how much to tell this woman.

  Irene touched the loaf of bread. “It’s ready. Would you please get the butter and jam on the counter, plates in the cupboard?”

  “Sure.” Grayson collected the items and watched as Irene cut thick slices of the brown bread and prepared one for each of them.

  “This is heaven,” Grayson said as she bit into the warm bread.

  “Thank you. Now tell me about the mark.” Irene motioned to Grayson’s hand.

  “It’s a long story,” Grayson said.

  “We have all night.”

  Grayson proceeded to tell Irene about the stone, the prophecy, her mother, and Phelan Tynan. She recounted her visions, her time in the rock dwelling where she saw all the women who had gone before her. She told Irene of the knowing and her place as the true descendant. She looked down at her left hand and presented her palm. “This is the birthmark, which I thought was a scar. Apparently, according to the prophecy, I was chosen, and when everything aligned under the residual moon, I stopped the ancient wizard and saved the power the gods placed in the stone.” She laughed then. “It sounds so silly.”

  Irene was silent throughout, sipping her tea and eating the bread. “It sounds ridiculous.” She laughed, as well. In a moment, both were laughing like children. Irene put her hand to her mouth to quiet herself. “We’re both daft, crazy as bedbugs, my mother used to say.”

  Grayson dried her eyes. “I feel like I’m insane.”

  “Oh, Grayson. Sad truth is, we’re not crazy. Ireland is an ancient country. Everyone thinks it started with St. Patrick and Christianity. And it’s easier and safer to believe that so you don’t sound insane.”

  “But not true,” Grayson said and drank her tea.

  “No. It is not true.”

  The crack of thunder would have anyone else jumping. Irene stared at Grayson and appeared not to notice the thunder or the blinding flash of lightning that followed. Grayson then thought of getting in touch with Corky or Neala; she realized there was no way. A cell phone was of no use on this island, and Irene McGill had no phone. It was now that Grayson wished she had honed her powers of communicating telepathically—not that anyone would hear her except Sebastian. And that was all she needed Irene to see, a vampire on a stormy night. That’d be enough to send the old woman over the edge.

  “I think you’re finding out just how old this country is.” Irene leaned forward. “I sense a goodness about you. You seem steadfast and true. And a wee bit out of your league.”

  Grayson chuckled at the understatement. “You don’t seem surprised by what I’ve told you. If I came up with a fantastic story like this back in Chicago, they’d have thought I was nuts.”

  “There are many in this country who would feel the same. It’s hard to believe such a fantastic story.”

  “But you do,” Grayson said. “Why?”

  Irene concentrated on her coffee cup. “Some believe by faith alone. Some need to see before they believe. I have both.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “You’ve come across the sea to a desolate island in the middle of the ocean to see about a nun. You must think she is somehow involved with all this.”

  Grayson scratched her head. “When you put it that way, it does sound odd.”

  “What are you after?” she persisted.

  “I don’t want you unnecessarily involved in—”

  “In what?” Irene didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a little late for that anyway.” She reached over and took Grayson’s left hand, exposing her palm.

  Grayson looked into her blue eyes, and for a moment, she was lost. The low hum in her ears made her rapidly shake her head. Suddenly, she saw two young women, the same women she saw when she held Sister Gabriel’s hand when they first met. Though, now the vision was clear: Two women stood in a dark room; Grayson felt the dampness around her. One woman started crying, holding her stomach. She bent over and sobbed uncontrollably while the other woman put her arm around her.

  Grayson then heard the sobbing woman cry, “It can’t be. It can’t be.” Just then, another woman entered the room; she was older and a nun. To Grayson, she seemed terrified, but it did not seem her fear was aimed at either woman. She blessed herself, then led the sobbing woman out of the room. The vision clouded over and vanished.

  “What in God’s name just happened?” Irene asked as she released Grayson’s hand. Her eyes grew wide then. “Did you have a vision?”

  “Look, Irene…”

  “You did. What did you see?”

  Grayson hesitated for a moment. “I saw two young women, one of them sobbing. They were in a room, then a nun walked in and took the crying woman out. Then the vision faded.”

  Irene lost the rose tint in her cheeks, making her look far older than her age. She sat back and blessed herself.

  Grayson knew then. “You were the nun.”

  Irene looked as though she might faint. Grayson quickly got a glass of water and handed it to her; she felt horrible when she saw Irene’s weathered hands shake as she drank.

  “I thought it was over,” she whispered. “So long ago.”

  Grayson quickly went to her when Irene stood. “Let’s sit by the fire.”

  “Sure,” Grayson said; she led her to the living room and the comfortable chair.

  Grayson strategically added a few peat bricks to the fire to keep it burning. “Would you like more tea?”

  “No, thank you. Please sit. We need to talk. It’s been over thirty years and it isn’t over.”

  “What happened thirty years ago?”

  The rain started. Grayson could hear it pelting against the window. Within a moment, the wind started and blew the back door open. Grayson jumped up and closed the door against the wind and rain.

  “That came up fast,” she said, wiping the rain from her face.

  “It’s the way of it on the island. There’s no warning. No warning at all.”

  Grayson shivered, not knowing if it was from the wind and rain or the desolate tone in Irene’s voice. She was also aware that Irene had not answered her question. Grayson drank the remains of her tea, noticing the large leaves in the bottom.

  “Do not disturb those leaves,” Irene said in a cautious voice. “Hand me the teacup with—”

  “Not you, too.” Grayson groaned. “My left hand. I know. I’ve had this done already.”

  “Grand, then you know what to expect. What was the last reading?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Grayson wagged her finger at Irene.

  “A non-believer.” Irene took the cup and peered into it.

  Grayson watched in silence as she cut another slice of bread. “So…?”

  Irene put her hand up to quiet her. After a moment, she sat back; the deep frown caused some concern for Grayson.

  “I take it I’m not coming into some money?”

  Irene tried not to smile. “No, you’re not.” She leaned forward then. “You will have much trouble to contend with very soon. There is a great deal of deception all around you, woman.”

  “Rose said the same thing.” Grayson pushed the plate of bread away from her and leaned forward. “A few people have had dreams.”

  Irene raised an eyebrow. “Dreams of what?”

  “Rose, she knew my mother and grandmother, recently had a dream of my mother, who said ‘liar’s moon’ and not much else. Another friend, who is a historian, had a similar dream. My mother and Vic came to him in his dream and said the same thing. But with no explanation of what liar’s moon meant.”

  “Who is Vic?”

  “She was my wife.” Grayson saw the raised eyebrow and the nod.

  “I take it both women are deceased,” Irene said.

  “Yes. Bo
th of them died saving me. Vic was pregnant.” Grayson looked at her ring finger and gently twirled the three rings.

  “An interesting arrangement.” Irene motioned to Grayson’s hand.

  “It’s our wedding rings and my mother’s,” Grayson said softly. “They gave them to me when I was in the dwelling. They said they’d always be around…”

  “You’re very lucky. To have them come to you like that.”

  “So what is your take on this liar’s moon? My friend, the historian, told me about the liar’s moon in the almanac. And how the haze around it shrouds the truth.”

  “I don’t know about this liar’s moon. But in your reading, there is much dishonesty in your near future.”

  “Tell me what you’ve seen. Tell me about Sister Gabriel.”

  “Let’s go by the fire. It will be a long night, Grayson MacCarthaigh. And I’ve held on to this for over thirty, nearly forty years. It’s time. If you’re asking about Sister Gabriel, then it isn’t over. And by what you’ve told me, it’s just beginning.”

  Chapter 19

  Well, Irene scared the crap out of me, Grayson thought, as she stoked the fire, adding several bricks of peat. She took a spot on the hearth, watching Irene, who sat in the chair that Grayson had pulled close to the fire. Grayson felt bad when she saw Irene’s eyes glistening in the fire’s light.

  “She was sixteen when she came to Our Lady of Sorrows convent.” Irene let out a deep breath as if it took a great deal out of her just to say those words. “She was alone in the world and pregnant.” Irene looked at Grayson and whispered, “And terrified. And when she explained her story, I was terrified, as well. You might not believe what I’m about to tell you. I didn’t at first, nor did I during the entire pregnancy. But after that child was born…” She shook her head in what Grayson thought was disbelief.

  “Irene, trust me. I’ll keep an open mind. I’ve experienced some bizarre things in the past couple of months.”

  Irene nodded. “Sister Michael was at a convent in Galway where they met. It was Sister Michael who came to me with the story. I was the abbess here. And after hearing from Sister Michael, we decided to bring Mary here.” She stopped and looked at Grayson. “That was her given name. Mary Reardon, poor child.”