When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella

by Heather Graham

  “Let me help you,” Devin whispered. “Who are you?”

  “Deirdre,” the image said.

  “What can I do?”

  The woman lifted a hand, as if reaching out to her.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t understand. I have been with the Karney family through time and now…now, something is happening. I’m not scheduled to be here, and yet I am drawn again and again and…there is evil afoot, as it was in the time of Declan.”

  “Declan? Declan Karney? His wife was murdered by Barry Martin and all died in the chamber that day.”

  “Death—as it is not supposed to be!” Deirdre said.

  “You’re…a family member?”

  “Aye, in a sense.”

  “You’re…”

  “I come in darkness, but to bring those I embrace to sweet light. I am the gentle change from mortal coil to what lies beyond,” Deirdre said.

  “You’re a—banshee?” Devin asked. Her knees were going to give. She grasped for the iron bars of the gate, definitely not wanting to fall.

  Pathetic! She had known the dead before—why not a banshee?

  The woman smiled slightly as Devin said the words. “I am Deirdre, called to help man, and my family is the Karney family. I am saddened, deeply saddened, lass, for ’tis not me making the horrible sound ye’ve heard with the wind at night. And I am called when ’tis not the proper time, and I know not what to do.”

  “Collum Karney did not die a natural death,” Devin said flatly.

  “He was not yet to be taken; still, I was summoned, and too late, for he floundered in fear and I wept for him, I tried to embrace him and ease away his anguish and…he is now at peace,” she ended. “Then yet again, I am swept from the wind and the sea to the castle…I was there, there with you today, for it seemed that Brendan would join his good brother.”

  “But he’s alive; he’s stable,” Devin said.

  “Still, I know the need to hover—to stay,” Deirdre said.

  “He remains in danger—or others are in danger?” Devin asked.

  “I don’t know; I greet the dead. What men do before they are called, I cannot see. Sometimes, we are called when a battle rages. We see the fight. But now…I don’t know what is going on.”

  “Did Collum Karney tell you anything?”

  “Only that the Devil sent Barry Martin back to finish off the Karney clan,” Deirdre said.

  “Barry Martin! A ghost returned to slay Collum?” she asked.

  “I know only what he said,” Deirdre told her. She lowered her head, a picture of strange beauty. “A fine man, and taken too soon.” She looked up. “Someone comes,” she said softly.

  Devin turned quickly. Someone was coming. She heard hurried footsteps coming close to the vault and saw a figure in the long, dark robes of the Church.

  Father Flannery.

  He seemed to be frowning, worried.

  Concerned that she was there?

  She looked back; she could no longer see Deirdre. She wasn’t sure if she’d disappeared into the shadows, or if she was just—gone.

  “Devin, lass, is that you?” Father Flannery called.

  For a moment, Devin felt uneasy. She was halfway in the shadows.

  In the vault.

  The way he was moving forward, he could push her, all the way in—to the back, the far reaches of the vault and whatever might lie in the shadows.

  And then she chastised herself.

  Father Flannery was the village priest.

  Right! It wasn’t as if men hadn’t used religion to hide evil deeds before in history!

  “Are you all right, Devin?” he called to her.

  He stopped just outside the vault. He peered in almost hesitantly.

  He meant her no harm.

  Devin felt like a fool. Worse. She’d had evil thoughts about a man of the cloth.

  “I’m fine, Father Flannery.”

  She stepped out into what remained of the light. The crimsons, pale streaks of gold, and mauves were leaving the heavens. Darkness would come in earnest soon.

  “What are you doing there, child?” he asked, now perplexed himself.

  “I’m not at all sure,” she told him. “I left the hospital and just—I felt drawn to stop. Perhaps to say a prayer. You’ve heard, I assume, that Brendan was rushed to the hospital this afternoon?”

  “Yes, of course, sorry business, and I am sorry, so sorry!” Father Flannery said. “That’s why I worried so much. This is strange. Poor Collum—and now Brendan. I saw you here, and I must confess, and our good Father above himself knows why, but…I feared for you.”

  “I’m not a Karney,” she said.

  He frowned, looking at her. “No, of course not. I don’t know. You’re at the castle…you are, in a way, family. But—you think that the family is in danger, the way that you spoke as you did?”

  “Yes, Father, I do,” she said.

  He shook his head. “There’s no reason, lass. None with a wee lick of sense. Too many heirs.”

  “Not so many. Collum, Brendan, Seamus—Kelly. And then Michael and Aidan,” she said.

  “And the Republic of Ireland,” he reminded her.

  “I think that what’s happened is too much to take as coincidence,” Devin said.

  “Ah, lass, don’t go round saying that now!” he warned her.

  “You think that would put me in danger? So you think that someone is causing these attacks, too—and not a banshee!” Devin said.

  He seemed distressed. “One—poor Collum—a heart attack. Two? Aye, girl, I question what should not happen. Thing is now, dear lass, it’s growing late. And graveyards at night…well, they’re dark, for one. You need to be getting on back to the castle. Among the living,” he added softly.

  “As you say, Father, as you say.”

  “Let me walk with you to the road.”

  He did so, bringing her back to where she had parked her car to the western side of St. Patrick’s of the Village.

  “Are you ever afraid of the graveyard, Father?” she asked him.

  “No,” he told her. “I am at peace with the Father above. If he were to say it was my time, then I would pray that He’d welcome me with open arms.”

  “Father, I believe that I’m at peace and that I’d be welcomed, too. But that doesn’t mean that I’d particularly like to go right now,” Devin told him. She studied him.

  Was he unafraid because he knew something?

  And knew that he wouldn’t be touched?

  She tried to dismiss the thought. She’d already aggravated herself once by being suspicious of a priest.

  She’d grown up knowing that the world was filled with beliefs. She tried to respect all of them. But she knew, too, that ideals and beliefs were one thing—that while tenets and beliefs might be filled with good things, they were also upheld by men. And men, as the world knew, were easy prey to temptation.

  “Do you know anything, Father?” she asked him bluntly.

  He paused, staring at her.

  “I only know that the wind blows hard out of the north at times, that this is a wild coastline, and that…that men can be pure evil. I believe that there is a cry that may well be the tears of a banshee. And I know that there are shadows in time and life and that shadows often harbor evil. That’s what I know. I pray for all at the castle. I pray that if there is a truth, you will find it,” he told her.

  She believed him.

  “Thank you, Father,” she said.

  She stepped into the driver’s seat and headed the rest of the way toward the castle, looking up at the sky.

  St. Patrick’s Day was coming.

  A day for feast and celebration.

  She swore she would not let it be a day when the banshee was called upon to work.

  Deirdre.

  A fitting name…

  Devin didn’t wonder if she had imagined the woman in the shadows. She wasn’t afraid. She was grateful.

  There was, indeed, a ba
nshee.

  And, just the same, she was certain there was someone out there playing at the banshee’s business.

  Chapter 9

  It wasn’t at all a closed-door mystery, Rocky thought dryly.

  There would have been plenty of ways for someone to slip in and surprise Collum Karney in the master’s chambers.

  There were two doors that led to the hall. Easy enough.

  Of course, the upstairs of the central tower chamber of the castle was now filled with guests.

  He and Devin had the old master’s chambers.

  Brendan slept in the “new” master’s chambers.

  Seamus, Kelly, Michael, and Aidan all had rooms there.

  But, other than Brendan, none of them had been in residence when Collum Karney had died.

  He was certain that Kelly and Seamus hadn’t been there, at any rate. They’d still been in the United States.

  He couldn’t, of course, be certain that Michael or Aidan hadn’t slipped up from Dublin, where they lived. It wasn’t much of a drive at all. One of them—or both—could have hopped in a car and easily driven up.

  Yet, neither of the two had been in the house when Brendan had been shocked into a heart attack and coma that day. They’d been with Seamus and Kelly.

  Had they rigged something that might have appeared to have been a monster of some kind, come for Brendan?

  He’d been one of the first back into the great hall of the castle. He’d seen nothing.

  His attention had been drawn to the man dying on the floor!

  But, still, there had been no sign of rigging of any kind.

  Yes, he’d left Michael and Aidan downstairs when he’d come up to the master’s chambers. But, he’d popped his head down often enough and the two hadn’t even been there; they’d been in the pub, he’d discovered, heading there himself in his attempt at exploration.

  So what was the plan here? He wondered. Seriously? Kill every heir to Karney Castle? To what end?

  The castle reverted to the Irish Republic when the family died out.

  There was, of course, the possibility that Collum Karney had died from a simple heart attack.

  But two simple heart attacks did not happen so closely—especially when one of the men who had suffered a heart attack had been found with medieval weapons nearly in his grasp.

  At this point, he decided that they needed help from the Krewe. Not wanting the walls to have ears, he headed out beyond the walls of Karney to a point near the fire pit where they’d heard Gary’s stories the night before. Once there, he put a call through to Jackson Crow.

  Adam Harrison—who sometimes seemed like a supernatural creature himself—ageless, dignified, and, sometimes, possessing amazing abilities to cross state, agency, and hopefully even international lines—was the founder of the Krewe of Hunters. Jackson Crow—an agent from the start and Adam’s first choice to run the units as a supervising special agent—was their practical leader.

  He called Jackson and told him everything that had gone on in chronological order, taking the time to describe those around the castle to the best of his ability. Jackson listened in silence so long that Rocky hoped he hadn’t lost the connection.

  But then Jackson spoke. “I can send Will Chan and Kat Sokolov,” he said. “And I’ll speak with Adam. God knows, he has some amazing abilities. He may be best friends with the president of the Irish Republic—if not, I’m sure he knows lawmakers and law enforcement over there somewhere!”

  “We have no real authority here,” Rocky reminded him.

  “Well, not so true since 9/11,” Jackson said. “We have agents who deal now with combined forces all over the world. Trust me—we’ll pull something off.”

  Rocky did trust him. He apologized. “We’d handle this completely ourselves, of course. It’s a family matter, but…I can’t do an autopsy. And I think someone is creating a banshee with a sound system, and that’s Will’s expertise. So, thank you.”

  “Hey, what’s a good special unit for?” Jackson asked him lightly. “And, really, Rocky, hell, do you two know how to enjoy a honeymoon or what?”

  “Yeah, yeah, funny, thanks!” Rocky said. “Also, I’m going to shoot you an e-mail—can we have some personal information checked out on our key suspects?”

  “You have key suspects?”

  “At the least, I have key players. I’m trying to find out if there was a possibility that one of Tavish Karney’s nephews might have been in the area the night that Collum died. After Brendan, Seamus, and Kelly, those two are the next to inherit.”

  “We’ll be on it,” Jackson promised.

  Rocky thanked him again and said good-bye.

  Hitting the “end” button on his phone, he looked up toward the castle. It was truly magnificent—rich in history, the accomplishments of man, the terror of time—a monument to resistance and persistence.

  It suddenly occurred to him that the castle itself was the key to the games being played—and the key to discovering the truth. The very history of the place played into what seemed to be happening.

  He headed back through the courtyard to the castle. While the area seemed more subdued than it had been earlier, there were still people milling about. There was no entertainment on the stage; a sound system was playing softly—the melodious voices of Irish tenors singing traditional songs fell lightly on the air.

  He hurried past the activity. On an impulse, he headed through the main tower to the pub.

  It was busy—very busy, and even as he entered and heard the hum of conversation, he could pick out snatches of what was being said.

  “Thank the Good Lord above that Brendan lives!” someone said.

  “Aye, but did you hear? Seems he was battling the Devil!” said another.

  “…found with weapons!”

  “Medieval weapons!”

  “And the banshee! Aye, the banshee wailed something fierce the night before!”

  “Just like with old Collum!”

  Conversations ceased as Rocky neared the bar. The men standing about nodded his way in a friendly manner, but still eyed him as if he were a bit of an oddity. It seemed everyone knew that he was the man married to Kelly Karney’s American cousin.

  It was certainly a small village.

  “Evening,” he said.

  Allen came over, his smile a bit grim. He leaned toward him around the taps. “Any word? Brendan is hanging in still?”

  “The word right now is good,” Rocky told him. “He’s stable.”

  “Has he said what happened?” Allen asked.

  “He’s still unconscious, and apparently his doctors believe that’s best for the moment,” Rocky said.

  “Thank God. Two Karney men in two weeks! Two too many! So, Rocky, what can I give you?”

  “Guinness, please. You pour so well, I’m not sure I’ll be able to enjoy it in the States again.”

  “Americans keep trying to cool down a beer that should be room temperature,” Allen said, shaking his head with sympathy for a people so misguided.

  Rocky accepted his beer and leaned against the bar, listening to the snatches of conversation he could gather once again.

  His attention was drawn to the alcove—the old chapel—where they’d been seated the night before.

  Siobhan was there, waiting on a large table of men and women who seemed to be laughing and celebrating one minute—and then raising their glasses to one another soberly the next. He realized that they were trying to enjoy their St. Patrick’s celebration—while looking to honor and pray for the master of the castle the next.

  But it wasn’t the guests at the table who intrigued him at that moment.

  It was Siobhan.

  She was laughing and taking an order…

  And then jumping—and turning.

  She paused, staring at the side of the room. He saw that there was a door there. It was closed—locked, Rocky presumed.

  There was a red velvet cord across the door and a sign that read “No admitta
nce.”

  “You doing okay?” Allen asked him.

  “Fine, thanks,” Rocky said. “Allen, that door leads down to the old crypts?”

  “Aye, crypts and the old dungeon.”

  “Interesting down there,” Allen continued. “You know it’s locked off most of the year—liability insurance! Bet the old lords of the castle dinna think about liability insurance! Anyway, Gary can give you a great tour, if you’ve a mind for it, and I’m sure you being family and all, it won’t be a problem.”

  “Thanks, I’ll see about that,” Rocky told him.

  “Another beer?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine for now,” Rocky said.

  He set his glass and some money on the bar and headed out.

  He intended to see the crypts.

  But he intended to do so alone.

  * * * *

  Devin returned to Castle Karney—anxious to find Rocky.

  But while she found Michael and Aidan—getting a bit toasted, almost truly crying into their beer—in the pub, the two couldn’t tell her where Rocky was.

  Siobhan—who seemed unnerved—told her that she’d seen Rocky, but it had been a while ago.

  Allen said that he’d ordered a Guinness, stayed a spell, and then moved on.

  He wasn’t in the master’s chambers.

  Feeling like an idiot, she pulled out her cell and called him.

  He didn’t answer.

  She mulled the idea of staying in the master’s chambers and just waiting, but she was too anxious.

  She headed out of the tower to the courtyard.

  Night had come, and the moon was out. She wasn’t sure if it was full or almost full, or even when the full moon was supposed to be. That night, however, it was so beautifully high in the heavens that it cast down a brilliantly luminescent glow.

  People still milled in the courtyard; despite what had gone on that day—or perhaps because of it—people lingered. The vendors—especially the food and drink vendors—were busy.

  People apparently knew who she was. They stopped to ask her about Brendan. She assured them that on last report, he was doing well.