Bloodstone (A Stacy Justice Mystery)

by Barbra Annino

  I said, “The council?”

  Birdie sighed and produced the postcard from her pocket. “I asked Cinnamon to do me a little favor while she was in Ireland. This is what she brought back.”

  The photograph on the front was of a castle. The back said only. It is time.

  Then I thought of the white deer. Prophet. Protector. Get ready.

  I explained to Birdie the sightings and how I felt it was Maegan speaking to me.

  She smiled, slapped the table and said. “Very good. You recognized the message. Now, recognize the danger. People will—and have—killed for the information I am about to tell you.”

  Lolly grinned at me, a gaping space where her teeth should have been and Fiona winked. Fiona grabbed a makeup kit. Lolly went to the wardrobe.

  She fumbled through the garments quicker than I had ever seen her move. She didn’t bother looking back as she tossed out a black leather jacket, matching chaps, black boots with three-inch heels, a bustier that I could never make proud and what every girl wants her seventy-plus aunt to pull out of a box—studded wristbands.

  Yay me.

  I didn’t share their enthusiasm or their fashion sense, but I humored them to get through this conversation. “So who is the message from? What is it time for? And who are the council?”

  Birdie stood, took a deep breath and said as if rehearsed, “There are three only, whose calling is a benefit to their people: The Warrior on the field of battle, the Guardian of sacred truth and the Seeker of Justice wherever she may be.” She looked at me and said. “The council is a select group sworn to uphold Celtic law. They confirm these three of every generation. It has already been confirmed that you are the Seeker. I suspect Ivy is the Warrior. And the time has come for your calling.”

  My aunts nodded in agreement.

  “And the Guardian?” I asked.

  Birdie frowned. “I don’t know yet, but I whoever it is is close.” She looked at Chance, then Leo.

  “Oh, please don’t drag them into it,” I said.

  Birdie paced. “It’s only a hunch, but I feel it is someone near. Someone in town this very day.” She turned to stare at me. “Someone who has come in contact with the Warrior.”

  Well that’s just shiny and perfect. That kid ran off to Down and Dirty so many times it could be any number of bar flies. It could be those Jehovah’s Witnesses. Hell, it could even be Monique. And wouldn’t that just serve her right?

  And then it made sense. Be Smart. Be Safe. Be One. Or at least as much sense as any of this could make. She must have been referring to the Seeker, the Warrior, the Guardian.

  I stood, crossed to Birdie. “What about my mother? Couldn’t she be the Guardian if we are from the same family? Doesn’t this mean that she’s Ivy’s mother? That Ivy is my sister?”

  She looked at me with a flash of sorrow. “The three are rarely from the same clan.”

  “Well then what does all this mean? How would she possibly know about us? The Geraghtys? The note says...” I fumbled for it, read it aloud. “Always believe in yourself and the clan of the Geraghtys.”

  Birdie said, “I see that. But read it again. See the words that are there, not what you wish them to be.”

  I read the note again as if for the first time. Flipped through the pages of the notebook and I saw then what Birdie was pointing out to me.

  There was simply no confirmation either way. It didn’t say trust in our clan. Ivy’s notes never said the woman who raised her told her she was my sister. But she believed that. And I wanted to as well.

  “Then tell me, Birdie, what is the connection?”

  “I already did. You are the Seeker, she the Warrior.”

  I shouted, “Of what?”

  She explained that the three original three scribes of the Ballymote writings had sworn a blood oath directly onto the first page of the document to protect its most valuable secret. The writers appointed a Guardian, to ward over the manuscript, a Warrior to combat enemies and thieves and a Seeker, to bring to justice those who broke their vows or the law.

  “Most generations,” Birdie said, “There is only one from each clan. Occasionally, it was possible there were two members from a single clan. Mostly due to the betrayal of an original three.”

  By the tone of her voice, I guessed the punishment for betrayal was a long walk down a short pier.

  “Birdie, I know the authors of that text and not one was named Geraghty.”

  She gave me a wicked smile. “Do you think your ancestors are stupid enough to keep their original names so that all the world could track down the descendants?”

  Fiona paused from playing makeup artist. “Especially with the Internook.”

  “Internet, Fiona,” I said.

  “What’s the difference?” she asked.

  “Never mind.”

  Birdie sat down and so did I. “The clans of O’Duignan, O’Droma and McSheedy are presently Geraghty, Delaney and Mahoney.”

  Mahoney, why did that name ring a bell?

  “Okay, so we are tasked with guarding the first page from the ancient Ballymote Book. So where is it?”

  “It’s best I don’t tell you right now,” Birdie said.

  “What if I refuse?”

  Lolly slapped the wristbands on me and began stuffing knives in the belt.

  Birdie said, “Not an option.”

  Lolly pretended to slice across her throat with a dagger.

  “Well how am I supposed to protect it?”

  “You’ll find the Guardian.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  Fiona piped up, “Guardians all have one thing in common, dear. They all have a birthmark in the shape of the trinity on their backsides.”

  This was too much. “So I’m just supposed to approach random strangers and ask them to drop their drawers?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Fiona said and strapped on the chaps. Then she yanked my own shoes off and secured me into the boots that would likely ruin my chances of escaping a homicidal maniac.

  Birdie said, “Look, you have found the Warrior so all you need to do is find the Guardian and the secret will be safe from whomever threatens it as soon as you are united.”

  “Can you at least tell me the big secret?”

  Because I swear to Christ if it’s the recipe for potato pancakes or something, I’ll burn the page myself.

  “In time.”

  Which brought me to final jeopardy. Or so I thought. “What if, let’s say...hypothetically, of course, I don’t know exactly where the Warrior is? What happens then?”

  Birdie was contemplating the question, gaging to see if I was serious, so I decided to hand over the note that Scully had found.

  “So then it’s true. It’s time,” Fiona said, reading over Birdie’s shoulder.

  “You keep mentioning that. Time for what?” I asked.

  Birdie folded the note and stuffed it in her pocket.

  “Every hundred years or so, when faith is weakened,” she looked at me as if I were personally responsible for all the debauchery on the planet, “the Hunters come.”

  “The Hunters. Okay, who are the Hunters?”

  Fiona said, “Sometimes it can be a rogue member of an original clan, but more often than not they are outsiders. The fact that it looks like someone tried to eliminate Mr. Sayer may indicate there are two of them.”

  “Hunters can be historians, scholars, archeologists, people who have learned the legend of Ballymote and want to discover it for themselves,” Birdie said.

  “Or rather, steal the secret for themselves,” Fiona said.

  “The secret you can’t tell me about,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “That’s on the page you can’t tell me the location of.”

  Birdie and Fiona exchanged a glance.

  Frodo never had to go through this.

  “She must know now,” Fiona said. “The note changes everything. There may be a rogue. Which would be far more dangerous than a dabbler.�
�� She tossed some glitter on Gus’ badge, blew it in my face and rubbed the badge over my heart.

  Birdie took a deep breath. “The original page was destroyed before the book was copied in 1887. There was concern that too many copies would jeopardize the mission of protecting the sacred text. And so,” Birdie paused, looked at me. “It was agreed that each of the three clans would begin their own stories, their own...books. Within the manuscripts, the matriarch was tasked to find a way to embed precisely one third of what was on that long-ago destroyed page. So that way, the three that are most important to our people—the Seeker, the Guardian, the Warrior—are all needed in order to properly piece the information together. It was a way to provide checks and balances. You see, all three would be needed to compile the information.”

  “The Blessed Book,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Birdie said.

  But I needed the book to get Ivy back. What other choice was there?

  “Birdie the note Scully found said we could trade the book for Ivy. I cannot risk her life over this.”

  “We risk many lives if the Blessed Book found its way into enemy hands. It is not an option,” she said.

  Lolly said, “I think the boys are stirring.”

  “What do you mean we risk many lives? Like as in war? What’s the goddamn secret?” I asked.

  Birdie stood tall, said, “I have told you enough. Find the Guardian.”

  She glanced back and to wipe that smug look off her face, I said, “If the birthmark is what identifies the Guardian, I can tell you it isn’t either of them.” I grinned at her.

  She scowled.

  Fiona said, “She’s ready.” Then she sprayed patchouli all over me. I freaking hated patchouli.

  Lolly turned me to face a full-length mirror.

  The person staring back was not me. She was a vampire slayer with a day job as a hooker. I took one long, pathetic breath and said, “Where do I start?”

  Birdie came behind me, draped the pentagram necklace over my head and said, “Darkness is drowned by three lights; nature, knowledge and truth. Start there.”

  Once she started talking like Yoda, there was no reasoning with her.

  FIFTY-THREE

  My grandmother shoved a piece of notebook paper in my hand, gave a last warning of impending Doom and slammed the door on my face.

  Fine by me. I did not want to be there when her prisoners awoke, for two reasons. One, and most importantly—I didn’t want Chance or Leo to see me dressed like a reject from a Twilight movie casting call. Two, I was betting they might have a few questions as to what happened to the last hour and a half of their lives and since we’ve already covered that I’m a horrible liar, I wanted to get the muck out of there.

  I held the note tight in my hand as I rushed down the hallway. The door to the last room was open so I stuck my head in and saw Cinnamon sleeping soundly. I decided not to wake her as I headed for the kitchen. There was a lot to do, but even a Seeker of Justice guarding an ancient Secret History of the World, or whatever the heck it was, needed fuel.

  The kitchen was a lot quieter than this morning and I didn’t see any police no crossing tape so I headed straight for the fridge and poked around until the counter was covered with all the makings of a sandwich. Since I hadn’t eaten all day and because I was dressed like Elvira’s less-endowed sister, I decided I had earned the right to eat real bacon. On top of real mayonnaise—no Miracle Whip, thank you. Why do they even make that stuff?

  The stillness of the room, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the smoky scent of a processed pork product helped to clear my mind. I sat down at the table with a tall glass of milk, a pad of paper and the best honkin’ BLT this side of the Mississippi.

  I unfolded the Ogham translation and laid it in front of me.

  The time of The Hunters has come. I had hoped Ivy would be older for this battle, but she has been trained well. Protecting her has been an honor and a privilege, but the child no longer belongs to me. She belongs to the world. Ivy, your loyalty now aligns with the council. Stacy, I know you will serve her well. Your confirmation came at such a young age that I have no doubt the two of you and your combined talents will serve and protect the treasure at all costs. Remember, The three highest causes of the true human are: Truth, Honor, and Duty.

  The only clue I have uncovered as to where the attack will happen is this: The river is clear on this fateful night, though the Hunters are hidden well within sight.

  Be Smart, Be Safe, Be One.

  P.S. Sewn into the lining of Ivy’s backpack, is a little token of insurance.

  I tore through the bag, pulling out stitches and ripping into zippers.

  Finally, I found it. It was a key to a safety deposit box. Taped to the back was the address of a bank branch about forty minutes away.

  “Mom worked at a bank for a while.” Ivy’s words echoed in my ear. That was when I had asked her what was glowing in her backpack. She thought it was from the anti-counterfeit pen, but it was really the black light ink.

  Wait a second. That pen. Ivy told me that mom talked about phony money on the telephone.

  Phony money. Was Ivy’s young ears not hearing properly? Could she really have been saying Mahoney money?

  Geraghty, Delaney, Mahoney. I jotted the names on the pad of paper and started listing out what needed to be done to protect a treasure I knew nothing about. No easy task, but I guess knowledge and truth, as Birdie said, might help. Not sure how nature would play into it, but you choose the best tools for the job and go from there.

  First on tap was calling in the crash and getting the truck towed back to Chance’s place. Then I had to grab the guestbook and receipts. Hopefully, Birdie knew where everyone had re-booked so I could drop in and speak to them after I went to the bank. If it was someone in this house who assaulted Sayer (I still wasn’t completely convinced on the whole walking dead theory) then that person must be a Hunter. Maybe. Or he or she could be the Guardian and discovered Sayer to be a Hunter. Either way, if all this were true, then it should somehow lead me to Ivy. Since the last names I knew so far were Sayer and Honeycut, my guess was that the third party might have had the name of Delaney or Mahoney.

  My head was pounding so I went to the medicine cabinet in search of relief. Two aspirin later, it hit me that I still didn’t know where all my crap was so I texted Birdie who wrote back that it was in the shed.

  Hmm. Maybe that was where she hid the book.

  I still had two missed calls from Leo so I hit the voicemail and listened to him explain he was coming to the house to tell us something, asking me to meet him. I was pretty sure it was about Sayer’s missing body. I deleted it and the next message was tenser, his voice concerned about my office break-in. “Please just call me and tell me you’re okay.”

  I washed my hands with lavender soap and when I looked back in the mirror, I saw something far more frightening than my own reflection.

  A woman. Gagged and tied to a bed.

  I couldn’t see her face, but the hair—the hair was unmistakable.

  Ruby red.

  I yelped, spilling the aspirin bottle over and the tiny pills ran down the drain, chasing the running water.

  I shut the water off, closed my eyes and called to Maegan. She had to be the one sending me the visions.

  “Mother of my mother’s mother, please, unveil the message you’re sending me. Is the woman a Geraghty? Is she my mother?”

  This time Maegan came in the form of a white tiger with piercing green eyes. It was a beautiful creature, standing regally in a meadow. I watched in awe as the scene turned from day to night. The tiger crossed the tall grass and lay down with determination. Suddenly, she charged a group of gazelle and pounced on one, dragging her prey off into the woods.

  I stood there horrified and feeling sorry for the gazelle. But then three cubs came scampering out from behind a log and happily tore into their dinner. I watched them eat for a second or two until the mother’s eyes narrowed. Her ears
flickered and perked and her movement halted.

  Then, behind her, a Bengal tiger approached.

  “Look out!” I said.

  She whirled and faced the intruder. The two tigers stood, heads lowered, studying each other and snarling for several moments. The white one carefully placed herself between her cubs and the intruder.

  The Bengal charged without warning and the white tiger lunged for its throat. Huge teeth flashed and snapped and in a fit of fury, the two ripped at each other’s bodies. Bits of fur and blood splattered across the landscape like gunfire and I cried out, “No!”

  The scene fizzled out instantly, without revealing the victor.

  “Wait! What happened?”

  “Who you talking to and why are you dressed like Catwoman?”

  I whirled to see Leo standing behind me.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” his eyes strolled up and down my body. “I love the boots. This is just a new look for you.”

  I brushed past him and Chance came around the corner.

  Geez, they couldn’t keep them up there for five more minutes?

  “Hey, where’s my truck?” Chance said.

  Damn. I didn’t want to get into this right now, thank you.

  Then he whistled. “Wow, you kind of look more like a dark angel now, Angel.”

  That nickname was never cute, nor accurate.

  Leo said to Chance, “You know who she reminds me of. Angelina Jolie in that movie Tomb Raider.”

  Chance rubbed his chin. “Nah, it’s more like Kate Beckinsale in Underworld. Except with strawberry blonde hair.”

  Leo said, “I thought it was called Van Helsing?”

  “That was another one. Same actress though,” Chance said.

  “What ever happened to her?” asked Leo.

  I sighed. “You forgot Xena.”

  “Xeeeeenaaaaaa,” they both said slowly.

  “If you two jacknuts are done...” I didn’t wait for an answer, but went straight toward the check-in area and grabbed the guest book and the days’ receipts. The tigress image was still burned in my mind. Mother, hunter, protector. Was Maegan telling me that she would still protect her clan—her cubs—from beyond the grave? Or was she warning me that the Hunter was more dangerous than I could imagine and that I needed to prepare for a battle and perhaps—a sneak attack.