04 Sphere Song - The Isle of Destiny

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Someone gambled too high of a prize,” Neala commented.

  “Maybe, but we don’t know what other game would have been set in motion if it hadn’t been this one,” Seamus said, at ease with the trickiness of his people.

  “Either way, it’s the hand we’ve been dealt. However, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn well,” Bianca said. “And I, for one, look forward to kicking more Domnua arse and saving our world from darkness and gloom.”

  “That’s the spirit, my dear,” Fiona said, and directed Dagda to go left at a fork in the road.

  “Where are we going?” Neala asked. She’d been so caught up in the goodbyes and Dagda hurrying them along that she’d forgotten Fiona had a place for them to rest for the night.

  “Why, my favorite place in the world – a little town called Grace’s Cove.”

  “Yay!” Bianca clapped her hands and leaned forward to touch Neala’s arm. “You’ll love Grace’s Cove. It’s this colorful little village tucked at the base of the hill on the water. Wait until we go to Cait’s pub – she’s a real corker.”

  “We aren’t going to the pub. We’re on a quest. There is no time for drinking and letting our guard down,” Dagda grumbled.

  “I beg to differ,” Bianca said, challenging Dagda in a manner that surprised Neala.

  “It doesn’t matter to me what you want,” Dagda said. “My task is to protect Neala and ensure the treasures are found. Period.”

  “Aye, but we must still rest and we must still eat, and above all – we must live. For if we die on the morrow, well, tonight I want to have a good craic with people I love, surrounded by happy music and a carefully built pint. That, my friend, is certainly worth fighting for.”

  “She has the right of it, Dagda. None of us are machines and we must conserve our energy. We haven’t even met up with Lochlain yet – who’s to say when he will join us? For now, we can’t make any moves until we have his side of the story and his assistance. Tonight, we’ll rest,” Fiona scolded.

  Neala watched as Dagda hunched his shoulders in annoyance like a small child being reprimanded by his mother.

  “Fine,” Dagda said, his voice terse.

  Neala barely concealed her grin. She could use a pint, some food, and a good rest before she faced whatever came their way tomorrow.

  “We’ll be there soon enough; Cape Clear isn’t all that far. The southernmost points and westernmost points of Ireland aren’t too much of a distance from each other. Cait’s holding the kitchen open for us, as it usually closes by ten. We’ll have food, a pint, and some comfortable beds for the evening,” Fiona said, looking down at the phone in her hand.

  “Fiona, are you texting?” Bianca asked.

  “Aye, I am. I don’t particularly like it, but I was taught how to put some magick on it to keep us from being tracked by the Domnua,” Fiona said.

  “I think they’ll track us anyway at this point,” Seamus said.

  “I’ve just never seen you text. I didn’t think you did that,” Bianca said.

  Fiona laughed. “I email as well. I was considering opening a Facebook account too,” she joked.

  Bianca gasped. “It would be my honor to be your first Facebook friend,” she said.

  “We’ll see. You aren’t the first to ask, you know,” Fiona sniffed, and the entire car laughed; even Dagda quirked a small smile.

  That was what they were fighting for, Neala thought, that sense of normalcy and fun in the mundane day-to-day that often gets taken for granted.

  Because in the blink of an eye, it can all change.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was too dark to really see the village when they arrived in Grace’s Cove, but the twinkling of lights from the buildings lining the streets that wound into the hills looked charming and inviting against the dark night. Fiona directed Dagda to drive along the seafront and up a narrow street. It twisted and curved toward the center of town, where a pub was tucked among several shopfronts.

  A sign reading “Gallagher’s Pub” hung above the door and light shone from glass-paned windows with cheerful flower boxes below them. A smattering of laughter could be heard from inside, along with the sounds of a fiddler warming up.

  “It sounds like a session’s on,” Bianca said, all but bouncing in her seat.

  “Aye, it does at that,” Fiona agreed, and directed Dagda to a parking spot around the corner. “Cait will have beds for everyone in the apartments she keeps for vacation rentals, and in low season for people who need to sleep off too much drink.”

  “Perfect. I would enjoy a full belly and some wind-down time,” Neala admitted. She stepped gingerly from the car and stretched, her muscles sore from battle. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fit – she was used to being on her feet all day – but hand-to-hand combat had certainly tested her muscles in ways she wasn’t used to.

  “Wind-down time is a perfect time for Domnua to attack,” Dagda pointed out, his eyes still scanning the darkness as he stood behind her. He’d kept himself inches from Neala since the battle, and having him so close was unnerving to her. For many reasons.

  “Don’t you ever take it easy?” Neala said, turning to look up at him.

  “Aye, I do. In the bedroom. I like to take it nice and easy there. Slow and relaxed, enjoying every moment,” Dagda said, his grin lazy and his eyes hooded as he looked down at her. If he was trying to make her nervous, he was a doing a good job of it.

  Gulping down a response, Neala hurried around the corner and to the front of the pub where the others waited, but not before she heard his low chuckle following her. Damn the man, she thought. Every time she’d convinced herself to not be attracted to him, he said or did something that had her thoughts skewing the other direction. And she really wished everyone would stop making comments about Seekers and protectors ending up together. It would be much easier if they could just work their way through this quest, save the world and all that, without romance complicating things.

  And wasn’t that all romance did, anyway? Complicate life? It was why Neala had given up on dating and focused on growing her business and on pouring energy into her friendships. Those parts of her life were logical; the amount of effort she put into them yielded equal benefits if not more, and there was no muss or fuss. Life was easy that way, and she didn’t have to deal with sleepless nights mooning over some man and wondering when he would next call.

  A pint-sized woman stood in the door to the pub, a broad smile on her pretty face.

  “It’s about time. I was going to come after the lot of you meself if you didn’t kick some Domnua arse. I’ve kept a stew on and a few mince meat pies warming. I figured you’d be famished.”

  “Cait, you’re an angel sent to us from heaven and that’s the truth of it,” Seamus said, beaming at Cait before smacking a kiss on her cheek.

  “He’s the right of it on that. I’d marry you myself if you weren’t taken,” Bianca agreed, hugging Cait before disappearing into the pub. Neala waited while Fiona gave Cait an extra-long squeeze and then turned to make the introductions.

  “Cait, this is Neala. She owns a smashing bakery in Kilkenny, and she’s the Seeker who will hopefully end this silly curse so life can go back to normal. Also, she’s part-goddess. Try not to peek into her brain too much. She may level you,” Fiona said easily, and breezed past Cait into the pub.

  “Try not to peek into my brain too much?” Neala asked, tilting her head at Cait in question. She gasped when she felt an odd brush of power against her mind, like the fluttering of butterfly wings, before it pulled back. “You can read minds? Did you just read my mind?”

  “Just dipped in lightly to make sure you are what I think you are. I’ll not do it again unless you ask. You’ve my promise on that,” Cait said, making no apologies for her intrusion into Neala’s thoughts.

  “That’s rude,” Neala huffed.

  “Perhaps, but I protect what’s mine. I’ve got a baby, my family, and all my friends inside this pub. Everyone who walks in the
door gets a once-over. Safety first, trust second.”

  Neala considered her words and wondered if she would use such a power to scan the brains of people who walked into her bakery. Deciding it would be difficult not to use all the tools afforded to you, especially in times like this, Neala accepted Cait’s explanation.

  “I suppose that’s fair. I’d probably be doing the same in my bakery.”

  “See? I knew I’d like you. And this hulking man behind you? I’m assuming he’s your protector?” Cait grinned at Dagda, who loomed in the shadows behind Neala.

  “Cait, this is Dagda,” Neala said, turning to introduce them.

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” Dagda said, shaking her hand and then returning to his watch, his eyes constantly scanning the streets.

  “Man of many words?” Cait asked.

  “Tons. Like ‘stop talking. Don’t move. Stay close,’” Neala grumbled.

  Cait threw back her head and laughed. “Someday the men will fully understand our power. Come, come, let’s break bread and make merry and all that. There will be time for battles in the morning,” she said, ushering them into her pub and throwing the lock on the door behind them.

  Cheers bounced off the walls when she stepped in, and Neala jumped, surprised that the group of people she found there seemed to be shouting for her.

  “It’s a welcome party. And a good luck party. And basically just a good cheer, good health, kick some Domnua arse party,” Cait said, scanning the grinning faces of the dozen or so people huddled around a cake in the pub. “All the women here have a touch of magick in one way or another so you’re free to be discussing anything ye’d like about power, fae, and magickal quests. It’s nothing new to this lot. Especially this one.” Cait pointed down at a baby who toddled over, eyes dancing with delight in a chubby face. “Baby Grace here is nothing but magick and full-on trouble. I feel for Keelin when this one becomes a teenager, I really do.”

  Baby Grace demonstrated her attitude by lifting a pint glass from the table and making to throw it on the ground. Neala gasped and immediately moved to stop her, but her eyes widened when the glass hovered in mid-air, to the delight of a clapping Grace.

  “Is the baby making the glass hover?” Neala whispered.

  “Or Morgan. She likes to pull some telekinesis tricks as well.” Cait pointed to a young girl, stunning in her beauty, who snuggled into the crook of an arm of a smiling young man – a handsome one at that – watching Grace and the glass.

  “Um, should I grab the glass? Will it be okay?” Neala asked, unsure how to proceed.

  “It’ll be fine. If not, it’s not the first glass to be breaking in this pub.” Cait shrugged and then pointed to the rest of the group.

  “I’m going to get food. Patrick, you’re with me to help serve this crew. They’re hungry. Morgan, pull the pints,” Cait ordered in a no-nonsense tone. The young man wrapped around Morgan disentangled himself so he could follow Cait into the kitchen, while Morgan ducked under a pass-through to the long wood bar that dominated one end of the pub.

  “Hi, I’m Keelin.” A pretty strawberry blonde woman, with whiskey brown eyes much like Fiona’s, expertly scooped Grace into her arms and caught the floating pint glass at the same time. “This firecracker is mine and I’m Fiona’s granddaughter,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, nice to meet you,” Neala said.

  “Let me introduce you to the crew. We’re all here to help, though Fiona has instructed us that we aren’t allowed to really help. No joining you on the quest or any of the like, no matter how much we argued with her. Which is why we decided to throw you a mini-party instead. It’s the best we can do on short notice, but at the very least it’ll send you off with some love and a warm belly.”

  “That’s incredibly kind of you,” Neala said, smiling at baby Grace, who twinkled back at her from Keelin’s arms.

  “It’s what we do. Not everyone knows about or believes in magick, so it’s best to support others who have it. We all need family sometimes.” Keelin led her to where another beautiful woman – Neala briefly wondered if all the women of Grace’s Cove were knockouts – sat next to a buttoned-up man wearing glasses and an easy smile. Neala wouldn’t initially have paired them together, for the woman seemed to have a bohemian artsy vibe. She wore a flowing sweater woven in brilliant reds and deep purples, and turquoise earrings that dangled past her shoulders, while the man looked like he’d just come from a day of work in an office building. But by the way they leaned into each other as he whispered in her ear, it was clear they were a couple as well.

  “Aislinn, Baird, this is Neala. She’s the Seeker on this quest. I’m told she owns a bakery in Kilkenny that is the best around.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I certainly put my heart and soul into what I create,” Neala said, offering her hand and a smile.

  “Ahhh, an artist of another medium. I can certainly appreciate that,” Aislinn said, smiling up at her with stormy eyes. “I’m an artist myself, though I certainly wouldn’t catalog my work as the best around.”

  “You’ve had quite the success, my love. I wouldn’t downplay your work,” Baird said, pressing a kiss to Aislinn’s cheek.

  “She did, at that. She’s had several shows up in Dublin now, to smashing reviews. Next she’s been invited to show in London. Can you believe that? I mean, I certainly can. Her paintings are stunning. But still, we’re all just so proud of her,” Keelin crowed.

  Neala wondered what their powers were. If one could read minds and one could lift objects without touching them, what could these two do? Would it be rude to ask?

  “Pints are up,” Morgan called, and she slid foaming glasses of Guinness across the bar just as Patrick and Cait swung through the kitchen doors with food-laden trays. “As is dinner.”

  “Let our guests eat. There will be time for talk in a bit. Can’t you see they’re exhausted? They need food and a drink to replenish themselves. Sit, sit,” Cait said, bringing the trays to where they’d pushed several smaller tables together to make one long one. In but a few moments, they were all settled with steaming bowls of chunky Irish stew, warm mince pies, and mashed potatoes in front of them. With a perfectly poured pint, surrounded by the cozy glow of the lamps tucked into corners around the pub, Neala was about as content as she could possibly get.

  The only thing missing was a man to cuddle next to her and whisper jokes in her ear, Neala realized. The entire table was paired off but for her, Fiona, and Dagda. She wondered if Fiona had lost a love in her life.

  Deciding to keep her questions to herself for the moment, Neala tucked into the stew and let the conversation flow around her.

  Content with life – just for the moment – she enjoyed quaint food made with love.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Fiona, where’s John?” Keelin asked as they finished up dinner, having talked of this and that through the meal. Neala learned a lot about the town – everything from the fishing charters that Flynn ran, down to Baird’s psychiatry business. They were a tight-knit group and a happy one, and their words ran over each other’s, interrupting each other or finishing each other’s sentences. It was clear they were family – whether by blood or not didn’t matter – and they took great joy in spending time together.

  “He’s at home with Ronan. I can never leave that dog for too long, you know,” Fiona said with a smile.

  “Most spoiled dog ever,” Keelin commented, but with a smile.

  Dinner had been delicious and Neala had groaned when they’d brought out a cake decorated with the words ‘Kick some Domnua arse!’ across it, which made everyone laugh and cheer. Even though she was full, Neala had to sample a piece.

  “I know it’s not the likes of your baking, but I do what I can,” Patrick said, and Neala tilted her head at him in surprise.

  “You baked this?”

  “Aye, I did. I like to dabble in the kitchen.” Patrick’s cheeks flushed.

  “He does more than just dabble. H
e’s an excellent chef,” Morgan said, clearly proud of her man.

  “This cake is delicious. It’s sweet but not overly so, and the balance of moisture is just right. I think you’ve got a winner here,” Neala said, scooping up another bite.

  “See? I told you it was good,” Morgan elbowed Patrick and he flushed again.

  “Can I ask a question?” Neala asked, pushing the plate back and scanning the faces around the table. “I certainly hope this isn’t rude, but I was told you are all magick or powerful in some way. How did you all get together? Or are you all family? Is everyone in this town magick? I have so many questions,” she confessed.

  “So did I, when I came here,” Bianca said. “This has turned out to be one of my most favorite places in all of Ireland. I was dying to ask so many questions and interview every last one of them. Instead I got dragged into battle.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Those are stories for another time,” Fiona said from the head of the table, her tone brisk. “And the night grows long. I invite you to come back and stay when this is all over. You’re welcome here, and to our stories. But for tonight,” Fiona said, looking at a candle flame that flickered in front of the window, “they are close and watching. Let’s have ourselves a party.”

  Dagda had stood at her words, crossing to stand in front of the door.

  “They’ll attack? Now?” Neala stood as well.

  “No. But they wait. And as I always say – if they’re going to watch, let’s give them something to talk about,” Fiona said and clapped her hands. “Shane, with the fiddle please.”

  Neala’s heart thundered in her chest, on alert again for an attack, and in awe of Fiona’s attitude. She knew the bad guys were out there and she wanted to make music.

  “One more round of pints for the lot of you,” Cait ordered, “but no more. Relaxed is good – dulled senses are not.”

  Morgan jumped to clear glasses while Shane, whom Neala had learned belonged with Cait, eased a fiddle onto his shoulder and began tapping his foot.