“I imagine,” Rocky agreed, looking through the crowds of people.
They all seemed happy. And polite. They waved and smiled, apparently glad to welcome friends and travelers alike.
“I don’t see Kelly, Seamus, or Brendan,” he told Devin.
She frowned, looking around as well. People were milling at the various vendor booths or kiosks.
“I don’t see them either. I know that Kelly’s second cousins are due in sometime today; they might be at the castle waiting for them—or settling them in. A Karney announces the dancers and thanks the church—and St. Patrick himself, of course,” she murmured. “Oh, there they are! And they’re with Kelly’s cousins Aidan and Michael. Well, Seamus and Kelly are there. I don’t see Brendan.”
Devin waved a high hand to her cousin who looked up and smiled, returning the wave. She said something to her father and cousins and they all turned and made their way toward Devin and Rocky.
“Hey!” Kelly called, a little breathless as she reached them first. “Rocky, these are my cousins—second cousins, whatever. Wait, my dad’s cousins, I think—Michael and Aidan Karney. Guys, you might remember Devin, and this is her husband, Craig Rockwell, known as Rocky.”
There were greetings all the way around, Devin hugging the two new arrivals. They were both tall redheads, slim, with freckles, and easy smiles. Rocky estimated that the men were in their mid-to-late thirties, maybe fifteen years younger than Seamus and ten years older than Kelly.
“Nice that you’re here,” Michael said. He seemed to be the older of the two—his hair was a little darker, his voice a little deeper.
“We never miss St. Paddy’s at the homestead,” Aidan told him. “And I’ve my band along this time. Lads are staying down in the village—hopefully, you’ll enjoying hearing us play.”
“If they’ve fortitude!” Michael teased.
“Eh!” Aidan said.
“Teasin’!” Michael assured them. “Actually, Aidan’s group is great. He forgot to mention there’s a lady with the band. Lovely voice she has. She gives the band the last bit of excellence that they needed to head over the top.”
“She and the lads are staying in the village,” Michael explained. “The castle was sold out. My own family castle. Ah, well, I asked Collum and Brendan last minute and ye can’t oust a paying guest like that. They’re fine, though. Put them at Molly Maguire’s bed and breakfast. They’ll be up for a wee bit of a drink tonight.”
Seamus was staring toward the doors to the castle’s central tower. A frown furrowed his white brows.
He looked over at Rocky.
“He was right behind us, just leaving another of his notes on the desk to check into the pub if anything was needed or amiss,” he said.
“Brendan?” Rocky asked.
“Right behind us! Right behind us!” Seamus said. He started to run toward the castle.
Rocky ran faster.
He burst through the giant wooden doors to the great hall.
And he froze.
Brendan was there.
On the ground.
Chapter 7
Kelly let out a terrifying scream.
Devin ran right into her cousin’s back, pushing her forward, and she caught Kelly by the shoulders, moving her so that she could see.
She strangled back a scream herself.
There was something that seemed frighteningly medieval and oddly poetic about the way Brendan Karney lay. His massive back and shoulders were flat on the floor of the great hall, his eyes wide open, staring upward at the wall where the great crest of his family held prominence dead center over the massive stone hearth and the crest surrounded by medieval shield and crossed swords.
Where now a few were missing.
He’d gone down with such a sword in his hand, taken from that wall—but it had never drawn blood. One of the fine fifteenth century dirks that had belonged in its proper place at the side of the crest had not drawn blood either—it lay near the left hand of the dead man, as if he had wielded the sword in one hand and the dirk in another to battle an enemy—and unseen demon, so it appeared.
Because Brendan Karney had not been wounded in any way that met the eye—he was just there, staring, eyes wide open with horror, at whatever man or beast he had meant to battle.
“Call the emergency number,” Rocky said.
He was already on his knees by the dead man.
“Dammit!” Rocky roared. “Emergency!”
Kelly collected herself, shaking as she pulled out her cell phone. But her voice was clear and distinct when she asked for help.
Rocky had already begun work over Brendan, practicing cardio pulmonary resuscitation.
Brendan had appeared to be dead!
But, he wasn’t.
Devin hurried over to come to her knees by Rocky’s side, grateful that training worked and that she quickly kicked into response mode rather than shock. She let Rocky continue counting and using the “hands only” practice for an unconscious heart attack victim. He sat back, letting her take over, then used his own careful force again.
As she worked on her knees, she felt a strange sensation sweeping over her.
The same eerie feeling of cold that had touched her in the Karney family tomb.
She dared to look around. And she thought that, lurking in the shadows beneath the stone staircase that led to the floor above the great hall, there was something.
A shadow in the shadows. A great raven’s wing. Something…
Dark.
Darker than dark.
She didn’t dare look; Rocky had realized that even lying prone, eyes wide open, Brendan might still be alive. And while it didn’t look good, they just might be able to save him.
Even if the banshee had wailed. Even if she waited, lurking in the shadows.
Devin gave herself a serious mental shake and continued listening to Rocky.
Apparently, emergency med techs were on hand at the festivities; what had seemed like a lifetime was most probably only the passing of a minute or two before men were rushing in, ready to take over.
Kelly would ride in the ambulance; Seamus would follow. Rocky didn’t think that the man was in any condition to drive, but Devin insisted that she was—she would bring Seamus to the hospital.
Rocky didn’t want her to go and him to stay—but one of them needed to go and one of them needed to stay, and that’s the way it was.
Someone had to find out what was happening, what was causing the “banshee” wail at night and what demon—real or imagined—had come to put Brendan Karney into such a state.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” Devin promised Rocky.
She smiled, looking at him. She loved him so much. She could see the fight he was waging within himself, hating to be away from her at all.
But they’d come to find the truth.
Kelly was her cousin while Rocky was the most experienced agent. They were right doing what was needed right where they were.
As Devin headed out of the car park in the castle courtyard, she could see that villagers and tourists who had been milling around were speaking to one another in hushed whispers, gathering together for support as they watched the ambulance leave.
The pipes were silent.
A few of the vendors were already closing down.
Devin gave them no more mind, concentrating her attention on her driving.
She didn’t exactly know where they were going, and she didn’t think that Seamus was going to be much help with directions.
* * * *
The sheriff, a man named Bryan Murphy, arrived as the ambulance departed. Rocky was left with the cousins to tell him what had happened.
Murphy was a tall, broad-shouldered man, clean-shaven, and probably in his late fifties. He seemed a capable man, weary perhaps, but determined to learn what he could about what had happened.
“Brendan was fine,” Michael said solemnly. He and Aidan and Rocky stood with the sheriff in the grea
t hall—right before the hearth, beneath the family crest and the weapons—and by the sword and dirk that still lay on the stone floor.
“My brother and I arrived at the village just about an hour or so ago,” he continued. “We checked some friends in down at another B and B, and brought our things up to our rooms in the central tower.”
“Brendan was fine, just fine—all jovial and happy that we were here,” Aidan said.
“Didn’t look sick in the least,” Michael agreed.
“He didn’t look sick at all,” Rocky offered. “He was fine this morning. When we found him, he looked terrified.”
“Can’t see how this happened,” Michael said, his expression definitely confused. “We were all coming out to the courtyard. Brendan was going to announce the dancers, in honor of St. Paddy and the church and all. He was right behind us—and we wandered on down and it wasn’t until we saw the Americans—my pardon,” he said quickly, looking at Rocky, “it wasn’t until we saw Devin and Rocky.” He seemed awkward all of a sudden. “Bryan Murphy, Craig or Rocky Rockwell,” he introduced. “Or did we do that. Forgive me. Brendan was…is a brilliant man.”
“Aye, and so soon after Collum,” Aidan said.
“Another heart attack?” Sheriff Murphy murmured.
“Not just a heart attack,” Rocky said flatly. “Who pulls weapons off a wall when they’re in the midst of a heart attack?” he asked. “Brendan was defending himself from some threat.”
Aidan and Michael looked at one another and Rocky could almost hear their thoughts.
Aye, the banshee!
Sheriff Murphy looked at Rocky. “I understand you’re some kind of FBI man in the States, Mr. Rockwell. You may think we’re quaint and outdated here, but our forensic work is done in Dublin County with some of the finest and most qualified doctors and technicians in the world. I know you feel that we’re lacking—after all, Brendan and Seamus called you and your wife over here. But, as you’ve all told me, Brendan was alone just a matter of minutes. Seamus, Kelly, Michael, and Aidan had just been with him. There was no threat. There’s been no break-in; no one in the courtyard saw any kind of a disturbance. Just as Collum Karney was alone in his room, Brendan was alone here. They were both big men, living hard. They believed themselves to be powerful, strong like the warrior lords of old who ruled here. If you can find anything suspect, I’d be more than grateful to hear about it.”
Rocky looked at Murphy. “Sheriff, I have no doubt that you’re extremely capable and I’m sure in many ways you and your people surpass our expertise. I can’t help but find it odd that one man dies of a heart attack and his brother is found unconscious and nearly dead barely two weeks later—surrounded by weapons as if he were defending himself.”
“You don’t know the village,” Aidan said softly.
“He means you don’t know how superstitious we are,” Michael told Rocky.
“You mean about the banshee wailing last night at midnight?” Sheriff Murphy asked. “Oh, indeed, I heard about it early this morning. The sound was heard clear down the slope. Yes, we are a superstitious people. Whether a legend is true or not is not really the point, though, is it?”
“You mean you think that both Collum and Brendan believed it—and had heart attacks?” Rocky asked.
“Possibly,” Sheriff Murphy said. “We’ll have to pray that Brendan comes out of this—and if he does, perhaps he’ll tell us just what he battled. As it stands now, I’ve nothing to investigate. There’s no sign of forced entry anywhere, there’s no witnesses—there’s no harm can be seen that was done to either Collum or Brendan.” He turned to Rocky again. “Young man, seems you’re a fine enough fellow yourself. If you find anything I can go on, I shall be delighted to throw myself and all my forces against it.” He turned to Michael. “What will we announce to the people? We have to get something out on the radio—Father Flannery must say something at mass. ’Tis a hard thing. The castle has always been the center of our celebration, and St. Patrick’s Day is a saint’s day and holy to us. Day after tomorrow. Do we allow our five days of festival to go on?”
Michael and Aidan looked at one another. It appeared, Rocky thought, that the brothers didn’t want the responsibility of making a decision.
“Would be Seamus needs to answer that question now, Sheriff,” Michael said.
“Seamus is at the hospital with his brother,” Sheriff Murphy said. “As is Kelly. This decision lies with the two of you.”
Rocky was startled when they turned to look at him.
“There’s tradition,” Michael said.
“And bad taste, too,” Aidan added.
“It was one thing with Collum dead and buried,” Michael said.
“But now Brendan! Aye, and both of them, fine men,” Aidan said.
“And traditionalists,” Michael said. “Rocky, what would you do?”
“I say carry on,” Rocky told them. “Brendan isn’t dead. Not that we know. And Brendan would want the celebration of the saint carried on.”
Michael nodded and turned to the sheriff. “We carry on,” he said.
“And you’re satisfied, Mr. Rockwell?” Sheriff Murphy asked.
“Until I have something to give you, sir, as you’ve said,” Rocky told him.
Michael walked with Murphy to the door. Aidan stood awkwardly by Rocky. He looked at him. “You think that something is going on here, don’t you? I suppose you think we’re all a bit daft, thinking that there be leprechauns and banshees and all. They’re just legends. Stories we’ve been told for years. Like Dracula and all that.” He grimaced. “Another great tale written by an Irishman,” he added sheepishly.
“I don’t think you’re daft at all,” Rocky said. Aidan apparently wasn’t aware that he belonged to—what even old friends in the agency referred to as—the ghost squad.
“But,” he added, smiling. “I’ve yet to find a ghost or supernatural creature who could commit murder—or even attempted murder. I think that something is going on. And I do intend to find out what it is. Aidan, if you or Michael need me, I’ll be up in the old master’s chambers.”
He left Michael and headed upstairs to the room he shared with Devin.
The room in which Collum—and many a Karney before him—had died.
Chapter 8
Devin spent a tense hour in the waiting room with Seamus and Kelly.
The three of them knew that they were hanging on by a thread and every second now mattered for Brendan Karney.
He teetered on the edge of death.
Devin didn’t tell Kelly that she’d believed that Brendan was dead when she’d seen him on his back in the great hall. She wanted to think that they might have saved him now. She knew the odds were against him.
For the hour, she sometimes paced. She sometimes hugged Kelly or Seamus. She sometimes watched them hug one another—wishing there was something that she could do.
And then, miraculously, after they waited that tense hour, a doctor came out to talk to them.
Brendan Karney wasn’t out of the woods.
But he was stable.
He was unconscious—yes, a coma. But, for now, that was best.
Seamus and Kelly asked if they could just sit with him. The doctor said that they could.
And so, after the waiting, Devin decided that she’d just give him a kiss on the forehead and then leave him to his brother and his niece and head back. When one of them wanted to come home, someone in the family would come for them.
She called Rocky and reported the situation. He told her how pleased he was that it seemed Brendan had a chance. He was, he told her, exploring the master’s chambers—and then he’d go beyond. She was to take her time and return to the castle when she was ready.
By the time she was nearly back—and in front of St. Patrick’s of the Village—she knew that she wanted to stop at the graveyard.
She parked just on the side of the church. The sun was waning and it would soon be dark, but there was still enough crimson and
purple light for her to make her way through the tombstones and crosses, Victorian funerary art, mausoleums and sarcophagi to the Karney vault.
She was irritated that she’d forgotten to ask for a key and wondered what she’d accomplish by standing just outside the gate.
But even as she approached it, she heard something on the air. Something that made her stand still, the hair at her nape rising.
It was a cry, mournful and terrible. Soft—but something like that of a wolf that cried to the moon above.
It was…eerie.
And not like the sound she’d heard the night before.
She was frightened, yet she continued to the vault.
And she knew that the cry came from within.
She stood at the gates to the vault and forced herself to try to peer within. She gripped the iron bars to steady herself, but the gates pushed inward and she stumbled into the vault.
She felt it again.
The darkness. The strange darkness that was like raven’s wings, a shadow, yet there, palpable…
“Who is here?” she asked, hoping for her best special agent voice, praying that the fear that gripped her and the thunder of her heart couldn’t be sensed.
Perhaps it was the ghost of a Karney—long gone, or perhaps, more recently so.
She was startled to hear a soft, female voice, rich with an old country brogue, beautiful and lilting.
“You see me?” came a whisper.
No, she didn’t see anything.
“Talk to me, please. You’re in distress. Tell me how I can help you,” Devin said.
And then she saw.
A woman emerged like a shadow from the far reaches of the vault. She walked toward Devin as if she did have flowing black wings that moved her.
When Devin could see her at last, she inhaled sharply; her breath caught.
The being before her was stunningly beautiful, tall and lean, and her hair was one with the black cape about her and the long black gown that fell to the floor. Her face was fine, like that of a porcelain doll. She was pale as the snow, with red lips and deep, dark, haunting eyes.
When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella Page 6