What did she care what she looked like anyway? They were on a deadly mission. Her looks would have nothing to do with this, Neala reminded herself, studiously ignoring the little voice in her head that was begging her to pay more attention to Dagda. For someone so decidedly quiet, he had a very large presence.
“This Cannon Rock – it’s not attached to land? Is there any bridge or anything?” Bianca asked.
“No. I’ll swim it if I have to,” Blake bit out.
Neala marveled at that kind of love. For years, she’d always assumed she’d fall in love, marry, maybe have a baby or two if she was so inclined. Then, when she’d never really clicked with any of her boyfriends – or not for longer than three or four months – she’d slowly given up on the idea of love. Neala realized she’d grown a little cynical in that department. Being a baker, she was constantly designing and decorating everything from wedding cakes to pastries for bridal showers, and she was always happy for the excited couple. But a small part of her wondered if they really – as in truly – loved each other in a way that no other could understand, or if they were simply caught up in the rush of it all, wanting that feeling of inclusion that society forced upon you. Especially for women, Neala mused; if you weren’t married by the age of thirty-five it was as though something was wrong with you. That woman must be crazy – she hasn’t been picked yet. The good ones get snatched up young. It was a sentiment that irritated her on her best days and infuriated her on her worst. What about the women who didn’t hang their self-worth on whether they were in a relationship or not? What about the ones who viewed relationships as complementary to their lives, but not necessary? The dreamers? The entrepreneurs? The change-makers? They should be viewed as a catch. Any man lucky enough to spend time with such a woman, let alone date her, should consider it an honor.
Until she met a man who looked at her like that – with complete respect for her business and the dreams she held – Neala was going to remain cynical about love. There was no time for anything fake in her life, and she certainly had no interest in living life by society’s rules.
But… still. Seeing Blake’s absolute determination to save Clare, the love of his life, did make her heart twinge a bit. To be loved by someone so completely, so fiercely, to the point of risking harm, must feel incredibly comforting. Like a big warm safety blanket, always knowing that the foundation was there. Yeah, Neala could see the appeal.
“I know a guy. He’ll get us a boat,” Dagda said from the back.
Of course he did, Neala thought.
“My man,” Seamus said, and did some sort of complicated fist bump with Dagda over the seat.
“Neala, I have about a million questions for you, but I think we’d better start with some basics,” Bianca said. “Anybody who glows silver is bad. They will try to kill you without any hesitation. They are not programmed with a conscience, nor do they feel remorse. Understand me? He who hesitates, dies. I think, had I understood that more clearly when I first started out, I’d have been a better fighter.”
Neala clenched her hands in her lap. She hated fighting – she always had. It wasn’t that she couldn’t hold her own in a fight – she’d been in enough of them, Lord knew – but violence left a sick taste in her mouth and reminded her of days past that she’d rather not think about. It was one of the reasons she’d been driven to create such a sunshiny, happy business to work in. It was really hard for people to be mean or rude to her when they were picking up chocolate chip cookies or a birthday cake. Although some customers still managed it, for the most part people were happy when you fed them sweets.
“I don’t like fighting,” Neala said softly.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to if a Domnua jumps you. Do you have any weapons? Anything to arm yourself?” Bianca asked, her tone brisk.
“Nay,” Neala said, shrugging an apology over her shoulder to Bianca. Though if the blonde could fight, so could she, Neala thought.
“I’ll protect her. She needs no weapon,” Dagda said brusquely from the back – and damn if the words didn’t just warm Neala to the core.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Bianca said, and handed a dagger off to Neala. “But here’s a knife anyway.”
“I said I’d protect her,” Dagda all but growled.
“Goddess save us from men and their egos,” Bianca said cheerfully. “When you’re fending off a hundred Domnua and one sneaks past and gets to Neala, wouldn’t it be nice if she had something other than her fists to defend herself?”
Silence filled the car.
“That’s what I thought,” Bianca said. “Now, I suggest going for the eyes, throat, or heart. Do not hesitate. They are lightning fast, the dumb shites,” Bianca said.
Neala found herself liking the blonde more and more. She certainly had spirit and a cheerfulness that was almost impossible to begrudge.
“Got it. Will try my best,” Neala said, and meant every word. She hated fighting, but she was a survivor – a fighter – and would do what was necessary when the time came for it.
“Why do you hate fighting?” Blake asked.
“Doesn’t everyone hate fighting? I don’t know anyone who’s thinking ‘oh, let’s have a wee bit of fun with the ladies and get in a row tonight,’” Neala said, shaking her braid over her shoulder and staring out at the passing countryside. The light was dim, nearing sundown, and the rain lashed heavily against the car windows.
“I suppose that’s true. I always feel all icky after a fight,” Bianca admitted. “But it sounded like there were other reasons. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it though.”
Neala turned toward the window again and silence filled the car. Obviously they were waiting for her to fill them in. And what did it really matter? She didn’t even know where she was, or what was magick or real anymore, so she might as well open up to these strangers.
“I was bullied growing up. No mum, alcoholic da, easy to pick on. Was overweight for quite a while there before I had a wee bit of a growth spurt. I was an easy target,” Neala said, then looked over her shoulder at Bianca. “Until I wasn’t anymore.”
“I like a woman who sticks up for herself,” Bianca nodded in admiration. “What… did your… your da – ?”
“Hit me? No, verbal abuse was enough for him. He thought all women should know their place. At home, in the kitchen, not having any opinions unless they echoed his own. Especially politically. You couldn’t budge the man on his politics and he grew to be quite childish about it. He would needle everyone around him, all but begging to get into arguments and shouting matches about it. And what did it do? Nothing. It never changed anyone’s mind or convinced people of a different way. Instead, it lost him friends and a family, and eventually me. I was his biggest disappointment. Owning my own business and being unmarried? Aye, he’d not a lick of pride about me, that’s the truth of it.”
“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, patting Neala’s shoulder.
“You said ‘was’…” Seamus said.
“Aye, he died a few years back from too much drink. It was inevitable – really more of a question of when than how, you understand?”
“I do. Sadly, this is much the case for many. Many of us enjoy a drink, but some – well, they don’t have the personalities for it. It takes to the brain and becomes their sweet escape. Eventually it becomes their curse, as they can’t be finding any peace without it. Tough way of it, it is,” Seamus said.
“Your mum? She’s gone as well?” Bianca asked gently.
“Aye, I never knew her. Da’s stories would swing often on who she was or how she died, but the truth of it is, it didn’t really matter. If she was alive, she didn’t take me with her or stick around to see that I was cared for. So either way, she’s dead to me,” Neala said.
“Rough,” Blake commented, his eyes never leaving the road.
“Life’s rough. You can complain about it or make the best of it. I won’t lie that I get my fits of melancholy here and there, but to my mind there’
s no use moping about for things I can’t change. The only thing I can control is what I do and who I chose to be. I’m actually quite happy in my life,” Neala admitted – and in doing so, she almost felt a weight lift off her chest that she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. It was the truth of it though – she was happy – and maybe time had given her the gift of reframing her tough upbringing to be able to keep her eyes forward-focused.
“You’re more than a survivor,” Dagda commented from the back, and Neala turned to meet his gaze, his stormy eyes just barely lit in the dim light of the day’s end. “You’re a warrior, and anyone would be proud of what you’ve accomplished on your own.”
“Thank you,” Neala said softly, a smile breaking out across her face.
The moment pulled out for a beat or two before Bianca made a humming noise and Neala flushed, turning back around in her seat. The warmth stayed with her, though, heating her insides and making her want to climb in the back for a hug from the big bear of a man. A man of few words, but seemingly just the right ones at the right times.
“We need to address this clue,” Bianca said, moving everyone neatly past the vulnerable moment, and Neala let out a small breath of relief. She caught Blake shooting her a small smile from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t understand what it means about Clare’s belief,” Blake said. “I don’t think she has any strongly-held beliefs, other than about rocks and stones and the like.” He chuckled when Neala looked at him in surprise. “She’s a scientist. Geologist, to be exact. Which is why her treasure to find was a stone. I’m surprised she was even able to hand it back to the goddess when the time came, without studying it extensively in her lab.”
“Maybe it’s about believing in herself? She did find the stone in her heart, after all,” Bianca said.
“So… what then? We encourage her to believe in herself to break out of wherever she is?” Neala asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “I’m just not seeing it.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” Dagda said from the back, his voice like a benediction in the dark car. “Just trust that you’ll know the answer when you need it.”
Chapter Twelve
Neala worried over what Dagda had said while they followed his directions to a little shanty down an overgrown road by the water. She had a lot of voices going on in her head at once; it was what made her an excellent entrepreneur and businesswoman – the ability to multi-task and follow several streams of thought at once. But how was she to know which answer was the right answer, especially if someone’s life relied upon it? It seemed like a lot of pressure for someone who was just joining along on this little journey.
But she’d made a promise that she would rise to the challenge. It seemed she was about to get a crash course in trusting her inner guide.
“You’re certain this guy has a boat for us? One that can navigate these waters safely?” Bianca said, leaning forward to peer over Neala’s shoulder at the crumbling cottage that was illuminated in the light of the headlights. The shutters were pulled tightly shut against the rain, though Neala didn’t think that would compensate for the gaping hole in one side of the roof. She could just barely see the outline of another building set further back from the cottage.
“Trust me,” Dagda said, and swung out of the back of the car.
Neala watched him stride confidently through the night, the rain not bothering him in the slightest. She liked the way he moved, with a smooth efficiency that belied his size. The door opened before he reached the cottage and Neala could just make out the shadow of a man outlined in the light. After a short conversation, Dagda turned and gestured for the Land Rover to drive back toward the building tucked behind the cottage. As the car rolled along the path, Neala was surprised to see a sizeable barn tucked among the trees and all but hidden from the main road. Not like they’d get many passersby on this old abandoned road, but still, it was a safe spot.
“Are they…” Neala said, tilting her head in surprise at Dagda and the man who walked toward the barn. “Are my eyes deceiving me or are they faintly purple? Is that an aura? Magick?”
“Och, my bad.” Bianca brought her palm to her face. “The good guys with magick are slightly purple. The color of royalty. You’ve a tinge of it yourself, too, but you can’t see it. It’ll come out more once you figure out what your magick is.”
“My magick?” Neala asked, but everyone was already exiting the car – with weapons in hand, Neala noticed, and drew her dagger as well. This was a good a place as any for an ambush, so she’d need to stay aware. But she made a mental note to pull Bianca aside as soon as she could and figure out what she meant by Neala’s magick.
A little frisson of excitement zipped through her at the thought. Wouldn’t that be just the neatest? If she, Neala O’Riordan, boot-strapping entrepreneur, independent woman, and the daughter of a drunk, had her own magick? It was the stuff little girls read about in fairytales. Not that she’d ever had fairytales read to her at home, but in school they’d read some and Neala had always been fascinated by the possibilities of it all.
And wasn’t that essentially what a dreamer was? Someone who embraced possibility? She’d always been a dreamer. Neala decided to keep an open mind and went forward to greet Dagda’s friend, dagger at the ready but a smile on her face.
“This is my friend, Sean. Owns a fishing operation out of Dublin with his wife, Margaret. Friends of yours, I believe? Some connection down with Grace’s Cove. The lot of you stayed at Margaret’s daughter and son-in-law’s house – Keelin and Flynn?”
“Aye, we did. It was a lovely house and brilliant stay all around. Big magick there.” Bianca beamed at Sean and offered her hand.
“Pleased you had yourself a nice stay,” Sean said, his wide smile lighting a handsome face. “Word was there was some rumblings this way and anything we can do to be of service, we’re here to help. I store some of my favorite boats up here, and ’twasn’t much of a drive up.”
Neala instantly liked him.
“Pleased to be meeting you, then, and we thank you for your help,” Bianca said as Sean unlocked a large padlock and chain. He slid the barn door open wide, flipping a switch to illuminate the interior.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Seamus breathed in surprise, and Neala nodded along with him.
Six boats ranged the length of the barn, from a small two-seater fishing boat to a larger luxury yacht. Each boat was impeccably painted, meticulously shined, and gleamed under the spotlights that hung from the rafters above.
“You’d never know these were here,” Blake said.
“Aye, that’s the point of it. Little risk of vandals when people think it’s just a poor man’s shack. I still keep a strong security system on it, but I pay a few locals to come by and check things out once a week. They need the money and it keeps people from digging around,” Sean said, walking over to a medium-sized boat in the middle of the barn. “I’m thinking she’ll be the best for what you have in mind. Cannon Rock is tricky to navigate, and you have to pull right up among the rocks on a small beach to even get to land. See how her bow flattens out here? We’ll be able to get in without too much damage from the shoreline.”
“We?” Dagda asked.
“You didn’t think I’d be letting you go on your own, did you? How many years of experience do any of you have captaining boats?”
The group looked around at each other.
“I’ve done my fair share,” Dagda said.
“Aye, Dag, I’d trust you. But I think you’ll have more important things on your mind than driving the boat. From what I understand, we’ve got some danger ahead of us. You let me drive. I know these waters and I know this boat. You do your job and I’ll do mine, understood?” Sean said, his tone brooking no disagreement.
“That’s a lad, then,” Dagda said, and that seemed to settle it.
Sean worked quickly, assigning everyone tasks, from removing the boat cover to hitching it to the truck. The
y worked well together, silent for the most part, but already as a united team. Neala would have happily hired any of them to work in her bakery.
“Your rain gear,” Dagda said, approaching her with a bright yellow jacket and pants in his hands.
“Thanks,” Neala said, looking up at him.
“Stay close to me,” Dagda said.
“I will. Is there… do you have any words of advice for me?” Neala asked, feeling unaccountably shy in his presence. The man was just so big! He towered over her, and his quiet strength and absolute confidence in his abilities would be intimidating if they weren’t being used for her safety.
“Head up. Heart open,” Dagda said, his eyes holding hers until a warm flush swept through Neala and she unconsciously licked her lips. Dagda’s gaze tracked to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. “And don’t do that. It’s distracting.”
“Do what?” Neala asked, honestly confused.
“Lick your lips. It makes me want to kiss you breathless and I need to stay focused on protecting you.” Dagda strode away before she could respond.
Neala brought her hand to her lips in surprise, and then felt a little trickle of pleasure join the warmth that now pooled in her belly.
A man of few words, but he certainly used them where they counted, Neala thought, a small smile playing on her lips. She pulled on the yellow rain overalls and jacket, knowing she would need the protection, for now the rain came down like buckets outside.
“You’ve got a look about you,” Bianca said, a round sunshiny balloon of yellow rain slicker.
“No, I don’t,” Neala grumbled, tucking her braid back and pulling the hood over her hair.
“You do. I know that look. I get it when Seamus says something sweet to me. Ohhhh, what did Dagda say? I’ve been hoping there’d be some romance there,” Bianca breathed, clutching Neala’s arm in excitement.
04 Sphere Song - The Isle of Destiny Page 5