by Sophie Moss
He blinked. Then smiled. Then started to laugh. “That’s what you came here to tell me?”
“I’m serious,” she hissed as Nuala started toward them.
“Alright, then,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “What sort of spell is it?”
“I don’t know yet, but it has to do with the fairy tale you found in Dublin. I found a file on your computer—”
Liam’s smile faded. “What were you doing on my computer?”
“Looking for the story.” Caitlin let the words come out in a rush. “I found one about a white selkie.” She searched his eyes for something, anything that would give her a clue. “Does that ring any bells?”
Liam’s dark brows snapped together. His puzzled gaze combed down her rain-soaked sweater, flickering back up to where her wet hair was plastered to her head. “How long have you been wandering around in the rain looking for me?”
Nuala sidled up to him and handed him a glass of whiskey. “Hello, Caitlin.” Her lips curved. “What brings you here tonight?”
Liam took a sip of whiskey, looking at Caitlin over his glass. “I’m afraid Caitlin’s been a bit shaken up by this storm. She’s not feeling well.”
Caitlin’s mouth fell open. “I feel fine!”
“Come on,” he scoffed, lowering the glass. “Even you have to admit that what you’re suggesting is pretty ridiculous.” He swirled the liquor around the glass. “Especially coming from you.”
“You’ve forgotten,” Caitlin breathed. “You’ve forgotten everything all over again.”
“Forgotten what?” Liam frowned and the worst possible expression crossed his face—one of sympathy. He looked over at Nuala. “I think we better get her to Tara’s. I think the storm’s taken her ill.”
“Tara was there when I found the document!” Caitlin snapped. “She believes me!”
“Nuala,” he said, draping his arm around the blonde’s shoulders. “I’m afraid there’s been some talk.”
She leaned into him. “What kind of talk?”
“Apparently, some of the villagers think you’ve cast a spell on me.”
“Have they? Well, then.” She looked up at him, lowering her lashes. “I think you’re the one who’s cast a spell on me.”
“Liam!” Caitlin cried. “Can’t you see what’s happening? She’s trying to steal you away from me!”
Nuala clucked her tongue against her cheek. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Caitlin.”
“I’m not jealous! She’s erased your memories, Liam. She’s trapped you in some kind of awful spell! You have to believe me!”
He looked down at her, his eyes still filled with sympathy. His words, when he spoke, were as condescending as if he was talking to a child. “Did you happen to bring it with you? This story you found on my computer?”
“No.” Caitlin kicked at the water. “It disappeared the second we brought it up.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” Nuala suggested.
“I’m telling the truth!”
“I’m afraid Nuala’s right, Caitlin. You do sound jealous. And I am sorry things didn’t work out between us the other night. But I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding.” He stepped back, guiding Nuala into the shelter of the candlelit cottage. “Why don’t you come back when you have actual proof of this story? And until then, stop spreading rumors about Nuala.”
He closed the door. Caitlin stared at the rain dripping from the gold claddagh knocker, inches from her face. “Since when have you ever needed proof?”
***
Caitlin turned when she heard footsteps splashing through the puddles behind her. Voices called out to her, shouting her name. She spotted Dominic and Tara running up to the house. “What’s wrong?” She sloshed through the flooded streets to meet them. “What happened?”
“Is Kelsey in there?” Tara asked, breathless.
“Kelsey? I don’t think so. Why?”
Tara’s eyes were wild with worry. “She’s missing.”
Dominic strode past her, pounding on the door.
“What do you mean, missing? Since when?”
“She was supposed to be at Ashling’s all night.” Tara’s gaze darted over Caitlin’s shoulder to the door. “But her parents just came into the pub and she hasn’t been there for at least an hour. We checked Sarah’s. And Fiona’s. But she wasn’t there. No one’s seen her.”
Caitlin spun around as the door opened and Dominic came face to face with his brother casually nursing a glass of whiskey without a care in the world. Dominic growled, shoving him aside and striding into the cottage. “Where’s Owen?” he barked at Nuala.
“He’s in his room.” Nuala set her drink down on the table, her eyes flashing. “Do you make a practice of barging into others’ homes without an invitation?”
“This isn’t your home,” Dominic retorted. “And I think I’ll have a look myself if you don’t mind.” He headed for the back rooms when Liam stepped in his path.
“What if she does mind?”
“Your niece is missing.” Dominic grabbed his brother by his shirt, shoving him hard against the wall. “If you’re not going to do anything about it, get the hell out of my way!” He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t bother glancing back when Liam’s glass fell from his hand, shattering over the floor. When a strange look crossed his face when he spotted the gold liquid seeping into the ivory carpet. Dominic slipped into the back rooms, coming back out only moments later, his face grim as his eyes met Tara’s. “He’s not back there.”
“What do you mean he’s not back there?” Nuala snapped. She brushed past him, her heels crunching over the broken glass. “He was in there a moment ago.”
Caitlin edged into the cottage, snagging a candle from one of the tables. She ran into the room after Nuala. The candle cast a small circle of light and her eyes swept over the sparse furnishings, searching for clues.
“We were in the cottage the whole time,” Nuala protested, throwing back her son’s sheets. “We would have seen if he’d gone out…” But her voice trailed off, her hands stilling on the covers when she spotted the three rocks stacked up on the sheets.
Caitlin shone the light over the rocks and spotted the white paint chippings scattered over the foot of the bed. She crawled across the bed to the window, running her fingers over the sill. “It’s still wet.”
***
“Here,” Kelsey shouted over the rain, pointing to a spot under the rose. “Shine the light here.”
Owen aimed the beam of the flashlight at the base of the rose. A web of roots—ice white and glittering like diamonds—snaked deep into the soil. Kelsey jabbed the tip of the trowel into the roots. It bounced off the surface. The hollow sound of metal clanging against rock rang in the night.
Kelsey sat back, blowing out a breath. “I don’t remember it being this hard.”
Owen leaned closer, peering down into the hole. “How much deeper could they go?”
“I don’t know.” Kelsey pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes, smearing mud across her forehead. Her arms ached from digging. She had soil caked in her fingernails. The cold was starting to seep into her bones, making her teeth chatter. This had seemed like such a good idea before. But now that they’d started digging, she was starting to get a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling. “Maybe we should stop.”
Owen shook his head, reaching into the hole and digging out more wet soil with his free hand. Kelsey looked over at the bogs. They felt restless tonight—dark and restless and menacing. She heard something splash in one of the pools and jumped. She wasn’t afraid of the dark. She’d never been afraid of the dark. The ocean thundered against the northern shore and she huddled under the hood of her jacket. Okay. Maybe just this once, she might be a little afraid. “Owen, I think we should stop.”
“We can’t stop!” he shouted, dropping the flashlight and digging with both hands. “I think I feel something.”
Kelsey crawled over him, fumbling for the flashlight a
nd shining it into the hole. Owen scooped out more soil, and they both stared when the rain washed the dirt off a web of roots twisting out in every direction.
“It looks like they’re wrapped around something,” Owen said, tracing the rectangular outline of where each root disappeared, curving back down into the earth.
“But how are we going to get it out of there?”
Owen felt around the spongy earth for the trowel. “I’m not giving up.”
“I’m not saying we should give up.” She ran her hands up her arms, trying to warm them. “But maybe we should get help. Or at least a bigger shovel.”
“I don’t want a bigger shovel.” Owen wrapped both hands around the wooden handle. He forced it down as hard as he could, ramming it into one of the roots. The trowel slipped out of his wet hands, the curved metal clattering over the roots. He bit his lip, picking it back up and jamming it down into the hole.
They scrambled back as a flash of white light shot into the night, blinding them. Kelsey slipped, skidding over a patch of mud, groping for Owen’s hand as she fell. At the first sound of ice cracking, she covered her eyes. The scent of the rose and the bogs swirled up around them. She gasped when she heard the stabbing. She peeked through her fingers, and saw Owen bent back over the gap in the earth, crushing the roots with the trowel.
“Owen!” Kelsey yelled as the sound of glass shattering, of icicles breaking, skated into the night. “Stop!”
“It has to be down here!” The frozen rose toppled, falling to the earth. Three more petals snapped off, swirling into the puddle. Kelsey’s heart raced as she reached for it, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it!”
Owen reached down into the hole, struggling to wrench the object free. With one last tug, he fell back, breathing hard, clutching a dirt-covered chest in his hands.
Kelsey stared at the pale, knotted wood. “It’s… small.”
Owen’s eyes flickered up as he swiped at the mud, searching for the opening. “Too small?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “The last time the box was a lot bigger.”
Voices echoed over the bogs. The beam of a flashlight swept through the darkness. She heard footsteps, saw the outline of a handful of people running toward them. Kelsey shot to her feet. “Mum?”
“Kelsey!” Tara’s panicked voice cut through the rain.
Kelsey squeezed her eyes shut as the beam of the flashlight blazed into her eyes.
“Owen!” Caitlin cried, sprinting toward them. Rain kicked out from under her sneakers and she waved her arms frantically. “Stop! Don’t open that!”
Owen fumbled for the opening, lifting the top off the chest.
Chapter 24
“No!” Caitlin sank to her knees. A cold winter blast shuddered over the bogs. The rain turned to sleet, spitting down pellets of ice. She grabbed the chest from Owen, all the color draining from her face when she looked inside.
“It’s not in there,” Owen cried, looking frantically up at Kelsey and then scrambling back over to the rose. “Maybe there’s another box buried under it!” He dipped both of his arms—black now from the mud and soil—back down, scraping the watery bottom.
“There’s nothing else down there,” Kelsey shouted over the howling wind, reaching for her father as he pushed through the crowd.
Dominic scooped her up and hugged her hard to his chest. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered brokenly.
“I won’t.” She clung to him, shivering as sleet bounced off her hood. She was right. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. “I promise.”
“Owen!” A cold female voice lashed out into the night.
Owen’s head snapped up. He spotted his mother and scrambled back against the wall of the cottage.
“What on earth were you thinking?” Nuala’s white cloak swept out around her as she stalked toward him, grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet. “Look at you! You’re filthy!”
“We can talk to them later,” Dominic’s voice bit out. “Together. This isn’t the time or the place.”
Kelsey reached for her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, mum.”
“It’s okay,” Tara murmured, smoothing Kelsey’s wet hair back from her muddy forehead. But her troubled gaze stayed on Nuala and Owen. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
Nuala brushed past them, pulling Owen with her.
Dominic turned. “Why don’t you come by the pub in an hour? We’ll get this sorted.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Mr. O’Sullivan,” she seethed. “I’ll sort out this particular matter on my own.”
Kelsey felt her father tense. “I think it might be best to discuss it together,” Dominic suggested.
Nuala’s arm curved around her son. “My son won’t be coming anywhere near your daughter, ever again.” She turned, yanking Owen’s hood up to cover his face. “Not after this ridiculous charade.”
Dominic’s arms tightened around Kelsey. “So this is all my daughter’s fault?”
“Dom,” Tara said, never taking her eyes off the woman and child. “Let it go. Let’s talk about this later.”
“I’m sorry,” Kelsey whispered. She felt so terrible for getting Owen in trouble. “It is my fault. I’m the one who planned this.” She saw Owen glance back over his shoulder and she mouthed, I’m sorry. But he didn’t see her. He was looking back at Caitlin, still kneeling in the mud, clutching the box to her chest.
Kelsey flinched when Owen tripped over a rock, his leg splashing into a pool of water. His mother caught his hand, pulling him through a narrow path in the stone walls. Kelsey buried her head in her dad’s shoulder, watching the seam of Nuala’s cloak split, floating out behind her like a shimmering white fan.
***
Rooted to the earth, Liam stared at Caitlin. The wind tore his hood back, but he didn’t bother to reach for it. Sleet pricked Caitlin’s pale face like falling thorns, but she didn’t even blink. Rainwater dripped from her curls, a tangled mess framing her stricken face.
She wasn’t wearing a raincoat. Mud streaked up the legs of her jeans. Her thick wool sweater was soaking wet and clinging to her, the hem fully submerged in the water. Numb, Liam stripped off his jacket, his boots squishing into the soggy patches of moss as he walked over to her, settling it around her shoulders.
She didn’t look up, didn’t even notice when he knelt down beside her. She was gripping the box so tightly her knuckles were white. He peered inside it, but all he caught was a flash of silver before the wind blew the lid shut with a sharp crack.
Caitlin clutched the box to her chest, staring at the rose. He heard a faint clicking, saw her shallow breath coming out in foggy puffs. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to warm her, stiffening when he realized her whole body was shaking.
“We need to get you home.” He started to help her to her feet, but she twisted out of his arms. She sheltered the box inside the jacket, her wide eyes staring at the pile of dirt and the fallen rose.
He followed her gaze, his heart rate kicking up a notch when he saw the broken glass. Or… wait. What was that? He stood, walking over to the hole. Were those… roots? He stared at the web of white roots snaking into the earth, the glittering pieces floating in the rising water.
Tara’s voice drifted toward him. She was standing not too far away, talking to Dominic. “Why don’t you take Kelsey back to the pub? There’s still enough of a fire left to warm a pot of water. Let her soak in a hot bath for a while. I want to check on Caitlin first, make sure she’s okay after what happened earlier.”
After what happened earlier? What did happen earlier? The hair on the back of Liam’s neck stood up when he saw the circle of petals surrounding the fallen rose.
“It’s okay, Kelsey,” Tara cooed, soothing her daughter who still hadn’t lifted her head from her father’s shoulder. “No one’s blaming you for anything. Let your father fix you some tea and I’ll be right behind you.”
“Are you sure yo
u’ll be alright?” Dominic asked.
Liam glanced up as Tara’s troubled gaze drifted over to Caitlin. “Yes. Just give me a minute.”
The last thing Liam remembered was walking into Caitlin’s cottage and kissing her. And now here they were in the middle of a storm, running after two kids trying to dig up a box under a rose?
What the hell was in that box? He glanced back at Caitlin. Whatever was in it, she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want anyone to know. But what could be inside that was so important? And why had she hid it all the way out here?
Liam looked back at his brother and saw that Dominic was watching him. There were questions in his eyes—questions, confusion and worry. He didn’t want to leave, but one of them needed to get Kelsey home where she could warm up before she caught a cold. Dominic reached out for Tara’s hand, squeezing it and then turned, carrying Kelsey back toward the village. His long, lumbering strides splashed through the puddles, the outline of them fading into the darkness.
Tara walked slowly over to Caitlin, crouching down beside her. “Caitlin,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”
Liam bent down, picking up the fallen rose, marveling at the sharp, jagged end of the silver stem. He turned it over in his hand, careful not to touch the thorns. There were only two petals left, clinging to the frozen bud, but they showed not the slightest bruise from the battering this flower had taken out in this weather. They were perfectly formed and hard as glass.
He glanced down as a fallen petal swirled toward him, as bone-white as the ones that still clung to the rose. He picked it up and it shimmered in his palm, like a pearl plucked from an oyster, like beauty trapped in a hollow hidden shell. A memory from the ferry ride floated back to him and his fingers closed over the petal.
“May I ask…” Nuala’s pale eyes lifted to his. “Why did you choose yellow?”
“It’s her favorite color.”
“But it’s also the color of friendship.”
“It is?”