by Kate Sweeney
“I did ask,” Megan said angrily. “You’re very tight-lipped, Ms. MacCarthaigh.”
“Grayson…”
“And so are your friends. I’m not trying to harm you or anyone else. I’m just trying to find out who murdered your mother and Dr. Rourke’s assistant.” She stood and pulled her robe tighter around her. “Because you and I both know they were murdered. And not by some wolf or rabid dog.”
Grayson sighed and stood. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the dining room. Maybe Mrs. O’Toole can make us some tea.”
“You’re a bossy woman, Grayson.”
“Yeah, I know. See you in twenty.”
Grayson walked out and heard a small irritated groan as Megan shut the door. Mrs. O’Toole met Grayson at the end of the hall.
“I heard yellin’. Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Fine. Is it all right if we sit in the dining room?”
“Of course it is. Go on, I’ll bring some coffee or tea.” She gently pushed Grayson toward the dining room.
Grayson gratefully accepted the pot of coffee and poured a generous cup. She wondered how she would explain what had happened or if she even should. However, she had to find out about Megan Gaffney. The fact that she was adopted by a couple in Dublin could be a coincidence. Kids are adopted all the time. How in the hell would she find out if she had the mark on her back? That might be kinda hard to explain. Excuse me, but can I see your ass? Grayson laughed openly.
“It does not bode well that you’re alone and laughing,” Megan said as she sat.
Grayson knew her face was red. “Coffee?”
“Only a pot full,” Megan said as Grayson poured her a cup.
Mrs. O’Toole scurried over to the table. “Now it’s late, but what would ya like for breakfast?” She looked at Megan. “The same as yesterday?”
“Please. It was delicious,” Megan said between gulps.
“I’m good with the bread, thanks,” Grayson said.
When Mrs. O’Toole hurried back to the kitchen, Megan sat back. “So what’s on your mind?”
Grayson had a mouthful of brown bread that she washed down with coffee before answering. “I’m not sure how to explain this to you, and I’m not sure I should be.” She wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not when Megan didn’t respond. Now she didn’t know what to say. Mrs. O’Toole bought her some time when she came back with Megan’s breakfast.
“You going to eat all that?” Grayson asked.
A plate of eggs, sausage, bacon, and a bowl of oatmeal sat in front of the beaming inspector. “Yes. A healthy breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Never mind that it’s lunchtime.”
Megan ignored her. “Now you’ve had enough time.”
“When I tell you what’s happening, I’m not sure what you’ll do with the information. That’s my big concern. I know you’re a police officer, and you know I respect that.”
Megan ate her oatmeal without a word while Grayson talked. She finished the porridge and started on the other plate. She looked up. “You know I can’t give you any promises, Grayson. You were a detective back in Chicago. A respected detective, who followed the law.” She took a mouthful and shrugged. “You know you’re going to tell me. It’s your nature.”
“You don’t know my nature, Megan.”
“I believe I’m a good judge of character, and you, Detective MacCarthaigh, are honest. I can see it in your eyes. Sorry,” she said and picked up the rasher of bacon.
Grayson glared at her. “You eat too much.”
Megan continued eating. “I’m waiting.”
“Okay, here goes nothing. Get the net.” Grayson leaned her elbows on the table and buried her fingers in her hair. She wanted to pull it out. “I’m the true descendant of the mythical race Tuatha De Danann. When the goddess Danu realized her race was to be exterminated, they took all the power and magic and encased it in a stone, broke it in three pieces, and gave each section to an alchemist, a sorcerer, and a healer.
“Figol, the sorcerer, was evil and wanted all the power, so on the night of the ritual, he killed the druids and tried to take the stone. He only got his section and gave it to his son, Phelan, who took his section and spent the next thousand years trying to find the other two, murdering anyone in his path. He also has obtained unbelievable wealth, so he has the appearance of being above reproach. He’s also a shape-shifter, and Corky thinks his shape of choice is a wolf. He killed my mother, who was fulfilling an ancient prophecy, protecting me. We think Phelan killed Kathleen, as well, though we’re not sure why. She must have known something, but that has nothing to do with the prophecy, which according to that prophecy, I was to battle Phelan under the residual moon several months ago. I won, so to speak, and now I’m the keeper of the power as it were. Not my choice, but there you have it.
“Because of this, I’m an immortal but still human, too, but I have abilities that Elinora, who is a real immortal, is here to assist me with. Phelan is real and very evil. We haven’t seen him at all, but he’s out there. And now we find out he had a child, a girl, about thirty years ago when he was a gunrunner for the IRA. We don’t know who this woman is since she was given up for adoption to a couple in Dublin. But we know from another prophecy that she has a marking on her that is on the small of her back on the left side. We’re hoping she’s human with no knowledge of any of this, but the downside is she’s a shape-shifter like her father and she’s in league with him and just as evil.” She stopped and took a deep breath.
The entire time, Megan stared at Grayson, blinking occasionally to show she was listening. Grayson knew she sounded ridiculous and knew exactly how Megan felt. It was the same way she felt when Neala first told her about Phelan and the stone—she thought Neala was nuts.
Megan sat back and took a deep breath. She drank her coffee and wiped her mouth on the linen napkin. Grayson watched her with a cautious eye. Megan set the napkin on the table and leaned forward.
“Are you insane?”
Grayson’s gaze darted around the room. “If you had asked me a few months ago, I’d say yes, without a doubt. Now? I only wish I was. It would make it a hell of a lot easier all the way around.”
“I have no response to this. How in God’s name do you expect me to believe this?”
“Because it’s true.” Grayson leaned in. “Megan, you said you were a good judge of character. Do you think I could make this up? Why? For what reason? Shit, I couldn’t come up with something like this if I tried.”
“You expect me to believe you’re some descendant of a mythical race and you’ve saved the world…”
“Just Ireland.”
“From this Phelan wolfman who spawned another shape-shifter who is marked and given up for adopt…” Her voice trailed off.
Grayson winced but said nothing when she saw Megan’s anger show in her blue eyes. “Don’t tell me. Do not tell me you think I’m the daughter of this, this…”
“Well, there’s one way to find out, um,” Grayson said.
Megan leaned over the table, Grayson leaned back. “I may have been adopted, but I am not…” She angrily stood. “Come with me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get up.”
Grayson followed her down the hall to her bedroom. “Um…”
“Shut up and get in here.” Megan pulled Grayson in her room and shut the door. “Where was this so-called mark again?”
“Uh, on the small of the back, left side. It’s a dark circle bisected by a line and…” Grayson was shocked when Megan stripped off her sweater and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. “Uh…”
“You want to know. Well, here’s your chance.”
Megan took off her blouse; Grayson knew she was staring at her breasts, which were exquisite, even though hidden by the black silky bra. “Uh…”
“You already said that.” Megan had her hand on her hips. She then turned around. “Help yourself.”
Grayson cleared her th
roat, trying not to show her hands shaking. She looked down her back, there was nothing there. However…
“Uh, your slacks are…”
Megan quickly unzipped and pulled her slacks down over her hips. Grayson nearly had a stroke when she saw the waistband of the black thong.
“Well?”
“Huh? Oh,” Grayson said in a coarse voice. She quickly shook her head. “There’s nothing there.”
Megan turned around and pulled up her slacks. “Satisfied?”
“I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry,” Grayson said; she picked up her blouse and handed it to her.
Megan gently took the blouse from her and put it on. She walked up to Grayson, who frowned deeply. “Was this just a ploy to get me out of my clothes, Detective MacCarthaigh?”
Grayson swallowed and laughed nervously. “Uh, no. And I’ll probably slap myself later on for not thinking of it.”
Megan chuckled and buttoned her blouse. “So if this insanity is true, you believe I’m not Phelan’s daughter. And why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Phelan Tynan. I told you he had immense wealth. Have someone look him up. You won’t find much. I didn’t, and I had a very good researcher. All we came up with was he owns Cian Enterprises which he founded in 1920. Nothing personal, no birth records. We found photos of him with Neville Chamberlain.”
“The prime minister of England before World War II?”
Grayson laughed at Megan’s incredulous tone. “The very same. There was also a picture of him with Sir John Quigley who, as I found out, was a descendant and kept his section of the stone. He then gave it to Nan Quigley, a granddaughter or niece, I can’t remember. You’ll find she was one of the victims I was investigating. She had her portion of the stone, and Phelan, the shape-shifting asshole, murdered her for it.”
Megan sat on the bed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know what to make of this. It’s too fantastic to believe. But almost too fantastic not to.”
“I wish it were all a dream.” Grayson stood by the window. She watched the sloping green hills sectioned off by familiar stone walls that epitomized the Irish landscape. “If it was, my mother would still be alive.”
Grayson felt Megan standing behind her. “I’m sorry for that. And for your wife.”
“Thank you,” Grayson said, still looking out the window. “She was pregnant.” She closed her eyes when she felt Megan’s hand on her shoulder. She turned then. “So what will you do?”
Megan looked up into her eyes. “I can’t tell this story to my superiors. They’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”
“I hear ya.” Grayson walked away from her. It was getting too close, too personal for her.
“I should go to Dublin to do a little research on Mr. Tynan.” She grabbed her sweater and pulled it over her head.
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” Grayson rubbed her temples.
“But I’m not. You’re going to take me to your friends.” She grabbed her service revolver and clipped it to the waistband of her slacks, pulling the sweater over it. “And they’d better have the same ridiculous story because if they don’t, Grayson MacCarthaigh, you will be my first suspect.” She opened the door and waited.
Grayson shook her head and obediently walked out of the room.
Chapter 25
Megan drove as Grayson phoned Corky and had him meet her and Grayson at the monastery along with the sisters. As they pulled up to the monastery, Grayson turned to Megan.
“Please remember this is a very old and respected place, Megan. These nuns—”
Megan tuned off the car and unbuckled her seat belt. “I’m a Catholic, Grayson. I understand the sanctity of the church and its history,” she said in a clipped voice as she got out of the car.
“This is not going to go well,” she heard Grayson mumble.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
She watched Grayson struggling with her seat belt. Grayson looked up to see Megan standing by the door, one eyebrow raised. “I would think an immortal could figure out a seat belt,” she said and opened the door.
Grayson unlocked the belt and got out, saying nothing as they walked through the courtyard.
Corky and Neala met them at the door. His eyes grew wide; Megan saw myriad emotions flash across his face.
“No introductions necessary, we all know each other,” Grayson said.
Corky smiled weakly. “Inspector. Good to see you again.”
Megan smiled. “I highly doubt that, Mr. Kerrigan, but it’ll do for now. Dr. Rourke.”
“Hello, Inspector.” Megan heard the professional tone from Neala and couldn’t blame her.
Corky looked as though he wanted to throw up. He glanced at Grayson, who shrugged. “Where are the sisters?”
“At morning Mass. I-I didn’t want to, well, I…they were already in church.” He looked back and forth from Grayson to Megan.
“We can wait.” Megan sat by the desk. “So, Mr. Kerrigan.”
“Corky, please.”
“Corky,” she said. “I won’t ask where you got the nickname. Please sit.”
Corky quickly sat next to her. Megan looked at him and motioned to the chair behind the desk.
“Oh, right then,” Corky said and took his place.
Grayson sat on the windowsill, her back against the window frame as she looked out at the sunny, peaceful morning. Neala stood close by Grayson.
“Corky, Dr. Rourke, Grayson just told me a fantastic story.” Megan leaned back.
“She did?”
Megan heard the squeak in Corky’s voice. “Yes, I’d love to hear your version.”
“All of it?”
She watched both of them as Corky looked at Grayson, who smiled and nodded.
“Right then.” Corky adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. “I don’t know what Grayson told you, where would you like to start?”
“The beginning would be too obvious, I suppose,” Megan said; she heard the chuckle from Grayson.
“Right. Well, I’ve been a historian all my life, it seems. I grew up—” He stopped when Grayson cleared her throat while she shook her head. “Oh. Right.”
Corky proceeded to tell the story, just as Grayson had told her. The only difference being Corky Kerrigan spoke almost reverently when he told of Grayson’s destiny, as he put it. Megan had to admit, he had a way of talking about this fairy tale. Megan found herself mesmerized and lulled by his thick Clare brogue. She watched him as he gently placed his hands on the thick leather-bound book, as if it were a bible. Megan realized, to Corky, it was exactly that. Timothy Kerrigan believed every word he said, and every prophecy he spoke of, he believed in it.
Megan had taken a course or two in Irish history, and her best friend Bess, who was as nutty as they come, believed in all this. She’d love to hear her take on this chaos.
“So, Inspector, that’s it in a nutshell.” Corky took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It’s fantastic and surreal, but true.”
Megan looked at Neala. “Anything to add, Doctor?”
“No. And you can call me Neala. It’s just as Corky said, and I’m sure Grayson, as well. It is fantastic, I know.”
“I have to deal in facts,” Megan said.
“So did Grayson.” Corky looked fondly at Grayson, who stared out the window. “She still does.”
“It’s a fact that my mother and Kathleen were murdered in the same way,” Grayson said. She looked down at the palm of her left hand. “And this is a fact, as well.”
Megan took a deep patient breath. “Grayson, that birthmark—”
“Birthright,” Corky gently corrected her.
“Can be anything,” she insisted.
Corky looked at Grayson and shrugged. He grinned as he pushed the new stapler to the edge of the desk. Grayson shook her head; Corky nodded.
“All right. What’s going on?”
Never taking his gaze off Grayson, Corky said, “Grayson is going to
show you.”
“Show me what? You two are beginning to irritate me, and it’s not a good idea to irritate me at this point.”
Grayson glared at Corky and raised her left hand, exposing her palm. Megan watched Grayson take a deep breath, showing a fierce look of concentration and what Megan thought was hopefulness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Corky lean back. Neala stepped away from Grayson and stood by Megan.
“What…?”
With that, the stapler flew off the desk in Grayson’s direction and crashed through the window. Grayson dodged out of the way as the shards of glass flew all over.
“Damn it,” Grayson said angrily as she looked out the window.
“All clear, thank God,” Neala said.
Corky gleefully clapped his hands. “You’re getting better. At least you almost caught it.”
Megan sat there stunned, listening to their banter. Corky leaned over the desk. “It’s not ‘anything,’ Inspector. It’s Grayson’s birthright. She is the true descendant of the Tuatha De Danann. The powers that the gods and goddesses bestowed on her just have to be honed, that’s all.”
Megan didn’t know what to say; she tried to take this in. “There are people who have telekinetic powers. That doesn’t make you immortal, some freak—”
“Hey,” Grayson said indignantly.
“You’re a stubborn one, Inspector,” Corky said happily. “I love provin’ ya wrong. Grayson, touch her.”
As Grayson walked over to her, Megan instinctively leaned back. “Let me remind you, I have a gun.”
Grayson placed her left on her shoulder. Megan felt a tingling sensation through that part of her arm while she watched Grayson. In a moment, Grayson pulled back and smiled. “You shouldn’t have jumped that fence. It left a nasty scar on the back of your thigh.”
Megan’s back stiffened. No one knew how she got that scar. She looked up into Grayson’s deep blue eyes—eyes that smiled affectionately. “But I would have done the same for my friend,” Grayson whispered and patted her shoulder. “Whether you believe this or not, Megan, it’s all true.”
They looked up when Sister Gabriel and Sister Michael entered the room. Megan inwardly laughed as the room took on a solemn overtone. Nuns still had that effect on some people. Catholicism at its guilt-ridden best.