by D. S. Murphy
“Thanks,” I smiled. “That was really helpful.”
“Ask Father Murphy,” he said. “He’d know more about the funeral arrangements, and what happened to the body and what not. You should ask Olivia, too.”
“Miss Lynch?” I asked, startled.
“She was around then too. Same year as your mother and I.”
Of course she was.
I asked my other teachers and some of the school staff about the photograph, but nobody else had been around long enough to remember my mother. Except for Miss Lynch. As I sat in her class, trying to keep up reciting and conjugating French verbs, I could feel the hatred radiating off of her. And it wasn’t the sharp, metallic feeling of new anger, this felt more like a tin can, buried underground and containing radioactive material. I should have picked up on it before. She knew my mother. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask her any questions. I did everything I could just to avoid being humiliated again.
At lunch I told Derry and Jackie what I’d learned from Mr. Halpern. We hashed out the things we already knew, but it seemed like we were just going in circles.
“I still think we should go to the police,” Jackie said for the hundredth time.
“But there’s no evidence that Bedelia is connected to Clara in any way,” Derry countered. “It was probably just a freak event. Someone passing through.”
“What about Colin’s family?” Jackie asked. “Mr. Halpern thinks they might still be around. Maybe they could give you answers.”
“I thought about that,” I said. “Though that’s not a conversation I want to have. ‘Hi there, can you tell me how your son died, and whether my mother had anything to do with it?’”
“Besides,” Derry said, “if for some reason there was something going on, and Clara does have some kind of weird family feud going on, it’s probably best to let sleeping dogs lie, right? Don’t go poking the hornet’s nest? Most people here know you as Clara Clark, right? So unless you tell them, they won’t even know you’re a Daly.”
I wanted to believe Derry was right, but I felt deep down like things were just getting started.
“At least we know why Miss Lynch hates you so much,” Jackie said. “Something must have happened between her and your mother.”
“Whatever it was, I don’t think she’d tell me about it,” I said.
“Then we have to find out what was going on between them. We can ask Liam again, or—”
She cut off when she noticed me peering over her shoulder. I was watching an old man trimming the hedges; the one in the photograph I took on the first day of school. I’d caught him staring again.
“Hey Jackie, who is that?”
“Galen. School caretaker.”
“How long has he worked here?”
“Ages, as long as anyone can remember.”
Maybe he wasn’t ogling me, I thought suddenly. Maybe he knew my mother. People said she stood out. Maybe he remembered her. When I got up and started walking towards him, he turned his back and started busily hacking at the bushes again.
“Galen?”
He turned around, and took off his hat, sheepishly.
“Yes, miss?”
“My name is Clara, I’m a new student here.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
I took out the photo and handed it to him.
“My mother used to go to school here. Branna Daly. This is her with some of her friends.”
“Mighty shame...” he said looking at the ground. “Tried to stop them.”
My ears perked up. “What? Do you know something about my mother? Do you know why she ran away?”
“Don’t know nothing, miss. Just the gardener.”
He pushed the photo back to me, looking around furtively, then turned back to the bushes.
“What about the Fomori?” I said, changing tactics. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
He blanched and looked around him desperately. He brought the shears up in front of him like a shield. I took a step back.
When he saw there was no immediate danger, he breathed deeply and looked me in the eyes again. “Myth. Folklore. Old stories is all.”
“I’m researching them… for school. Can you tell me any of the stories you know? I would really appreciate it.” I could feel his emotions. Horror, fear. He was afraid of the Fomorians, which meant he believed they were real. And dangerous.
I took a risk and put my palm on his arm, as I would to calm a skittish horse. I tried to communicate feelings of peace and well-being, and I could feel his mood calm considerably. Apparently I could do more than just read emotions… I could influence them as well.
“The old folks say, you can catch one by stealing her cap. Hiding it like, so she can’t go back. Make good wives. Until they don’t. Those stories always end in tragedy. Swore I wouldn’t tell. Can’t talk more, gotta work.” He turned his back to me and I returned to the table.
“Well?” Jackie asked.
“He knows something. But he’s spooked.”
“He didn’t tell you anything?”
I shook my head no, but I felt like Galen had told me something. I just needed to figure out what.
15
Aedan had written a note excusing me from the pool. Unfortunately I still had to suffer through regular gym class, but on pool days I had drama instead. The teacher was William Cahir—a melodramatic, posturing moron. He’d started the first class by reciting Edgar Allen Poe, holding a fake skull prop, then flapping around the theater yelling “Caw, caw, caw!” and making us do the same. It was ridiculous, but also fun to loosen up and be silly. And I liked the improv games.
I came out of the theater smiling and squinting at the brightness. I almost ran into the silhouette blocking my path.
“Coffee?” Sebastian said, holding out a white paper cup.
I took the warm drink, but didn’t say anything. Was this an apology? We hadn’t spoken since the hurling match.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, holding one hand out to me.
I hesitated.
“You have something better to do?” he asked, with a sly smile.
I’d been trying to forget about Sebastian, but all my feelings for him came rushing back. Was he trying to be friends now? Or maybe he was finally ready to give me some answers? Hoping this was the case, I took his hand and let him pull me up. My heart started pounding as I realized we were holding hands. I pulled my hand away from his grip and wrapped my fingers tightly around the coffee cup.
He didn’t say anything at first, we just walked together, sipping our coffee and enjoying the weather, which was overcast but clear.
“Your mother is the one who was Irish, right?” he asked finally. I nodded. “What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Apparently, not a lot,” I said. “But I’ve been trying to find out more. It hasn’t been going well,” I sighed. “She grew up here, just her and Aedan, until she was sixteen. Then there was an accident of some kind, involving a boy she was friends with, maybe her boyfriend. He died, and she ran off to America.”
His eyes widened, and I expected to feel shock or curiosity from him. I felt nothing. I realized suddenly that I couldn’t read his moods like I could with other people. The emotional silence heightened the awareness of my own feelings.
“And your grandmother?” he asked.
“Phyllis,” I said. “I’m not sure where she came from, I didn’t know anything about her until recently. She was beautiful, and she liked to sing. She disappeared when my mother was four… and the town priest disappeared at the same time.”
His face remained impassive.
“Come on,” I prompted. “Both my mom and grandmother involved in potentially lurid scandals? What do you think the chances are for me?”
I was half joking, but he didn’t smile when he glanced over at me. Instead, his eyes were apprehensive, like he was thinking that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“And the ocean?” he asked.
“What about it?” I said.
“You’ve never… lived near it before?”
I scoffed. “Not likely. My mother always seemed to be keeping me away from it.” Then I told him about the day at the Oregon coast, the day I’d almost drowned. Other than Beth, I’d never told anyone about that before.
“But now that I’m living so close to it,” I continued, “I feel a calling towards the ocean—like it’s inviting me to come in. I know it sounds crazy. I’ve developed an uncanny sense of direction. No matter where I am, I can feel it, beating against the shore like a heartbeat. Relentless. Constant. I could spin around with my eyes closed and still know exactly how far away the coast was, and in which direction.”
He nodded, sighing, and ran his fingers through his perfect hair. As he did I got a scent of sunshine and lemons. I imagined his long, slender fingers running through my own hair, grabbing me tightly. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, and instead crossed my arms in front of me.
“How about your parents?” I asked, trying to turn the conversation away from me. I realized I still knew practically nothing about him. Except that he was the hottest guy in the world.
“My mother is kind, sweet, gentle. Beautiful. I remember her singing when I was little, and playing games. Hide and seek. My father…”
His face darkened, and I could see his neck muscles straining.
Daddy issues, I noted.
“My father is in the military. He wants me to be tough. He used to yell at my mother for being too soft with me. He wanted me to train all the time.”
“Train for what?” I asked.
“Now that I’m older, he wants me to be a soldier, like him.”
“And you don’t want to,” I guessed.
“Be a soldier? Follow orders and kill someone I don’t know because somebody else told me to? No thanks.”
I nodded, Sebastian didn’t seem like a warrior type. He was strong, there was no question, but I couldn’t see him hurting people.
We’d circled the school and were now passing the hurling field. The team was practicing, and a handful of students were sitting on the bleachers, soaking up one of the last sunny days of the year. A few girls followed Sebastian and I with their eyes, and I could feel their envy reaching out after us. I’ll admit, it felt good. I wasn’t used to having other girls be envious of anything I did, apart from singing.
Suddenly there was a loud crack and a whizzing noise. I ducked instinctively, but Sebastian hardly flinched; he just reached up and snapped the sliotar out of the air casually.
“Sorry about that, sport,” a voice called from the field. Brody. I could sense his emotions. Malice and mirth, with a dangerous splash of testosterone and male bravado.
“You need to be more careful,” Sebastian said, his voice low, like gravel. It carried across the field. “You could have hit her.”
Brody closed the distance between us, and said quietly, “I wasn’t aiming for her.”
He stood there, leaning the large wooden paddle over his shoulder, as if daring Sebastian to start something. Two of Brody’s friends, Mark and Ryan, came to stand beside him, ready to back him up. Sebastian tossed the ball a few feet in the air and caught it again.
“So how’s this sport work, anyway? You take this ball, and you put it through that goal over there, right?”
Sebastian’s arm shot out and the ball went flying past Brody’s ear, shooting straight and fast across the field. Brody dodged, then looked behind him just in time to see the ball sink under the opposite goalpost.
Brody’s jaw dropped.
“That’s over 130 meters...” Mark said, his eyes wide.
“Is that good?” Sebastian asked, dryly.
“Just under the world record for throwing a ball, distance-wise,” Ryan said, also impressed.
Brody scowled, and pointed with his hurley. “You’re a freak. It was a trick of some kind. We’ll finish this later.” Then he turned and walked back on the field.
Just then I remembered the story I’d been reading in the library, about Lugh and the spear that destroyed Balor’s poisonous eye.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “What are you, really?”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian said, his eyes shifting. The warm glow I felt earlier vanished. I thought we’d shared a moment; I thought he was opening up to me. But he still wouldn’t tell me the truth, whatever it was. And I couldn’t bear to hear any more lies. I decided to lay all my cards on the table.
“You freaked out at the game when I spilled that Coke, and I’m pretty sure you know I caused Roisin’s Gatorade shower somehow. And just now, you threw that ball further than any normal human had any right to. Meanwhile I’ve become a human mood-meter, which means I get to always know exactly what people feel about me all the time. Which, basically sucks, since most guys are just thinking about what they’d like to do to me in this uniform. Oh yeah, and I’ve been receiving threatening notes.”
“What notes?” he asked sharply.
I pulled the two notes out I’d received from my school binder, and Sebastian scanned them quickly.
“This one is probably just high school meanness. A girl I’m guessing, who feels threatened by you. Where did this one come from?” he asked, holding the other note up, the one that looked like calligraphy on a scrap of parchment.
“It was pinned to my front door,” I said.
“This one is probably a spell, though incantations are usually longer, so it’s hard to say without seeing the rest of it.”
For a minute I thought he was joking. I looked at him like he was from another planet.
“A spell? Like witches and magic wands and Gandalf?”
“Who’s Gandalf?”
“Forget it,” I snapped.
“I don’t know very much about human magic, but it means that somebody here probably knows what you really are, and that means you’re already in more danger than I thought,” he said.
“There you go again with the human stuff. Do you seriously not think you’re human? Or is this some weird role-playing game you’re into? And why do you keep saying what I really am? What am I?” I was getting worked up. I bit my lip, trying to calm down, but his refusal to let me in was infuriating. He reached up to stroke my cheek but I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, raising my voice. “I fell for that once before, but I’m not going to be one of those girls who faints in your presence. When you decide you want to tell me the truth, I’ll be waiting.”
I walked away, seething. I’d opened up to him, but he still didn’t trust me. He was either keeping secrets, or insane. Maybe both. I was frustrated of being kept in the dark, by people who obviously knew what was going on.
I decided to stop waiting for answers. Sebastian said he didn’t know about human magic… but I had a feeling I knew someone who might.
16
“This came for you,” Aedan said, pointing to an envelope on the table when I got home. My heart quickened when I saw the name on the return address: Mrs. Dubbs, Portrush. I tore the envelope open and took out a thin piece of stationery paper.
Dear Clara, my name is Barbara Dubbs, I was a close friend of your mother’s. I have something for you, please come see me. Discretion is advised, so come alone. I hope we can meet on Pier 11 in the Portrush harbor, there’s a coffee shop near there. Does Saturday Oct. 10th at 4pm work for you?
My heart pounded in my chest. So she was still around—and in Portrush, that wasn’t far at all. How did she know about me? Did my mom keep in touch with her?
When I left school I’d had the semblance of a plan: confront Ethan and ask him about the note Sebastian had called ‘human magic.’ But this was way better. I was sure Barbara would have answers for me. I couldn’t wait for Saturday.
I was going stir-crazy, so I was glad when Jackie texted me in the evening.
Saw you at school with Sebastian. Must have gossip. Coffee?
We planned t
o meet at a coffee shop in downtown Bushmills called French Rooms. Derry would come too.
Need a ride?
I checked Google maps and saw it was only about a mile away. I was still buzzing with energy from the note.
Nah, I’ll bike it. Fresh air will do me good
They were waiting for me when I arrived. Derry had on a gray jacket and a scarf. With his golden hair, he looked debonair and European, much better dressed than your average teenager. And I envied Jackie’s long, forest green jacket, which looked expensive and contrasted perfectly with her bright red hair. I felt underdressed—and I was sweaty from riding over. But I didn’t care about my looks.
The coffee house was cute, with polished dark wood, red leather padded seats and brick walls. It was filled with art nouveau posters, old clocks and knick-knacks. Next to a book shelf was an old teddy bear on top of three antique suitcases. It smelled like lavender and fresh bread, and even had a fire place. We slid into one of the round compartment booths, which gave us privacy. It was like being in our own little room. I got a latte and a blackberry scone, and Jackie had black tea with lemon. Derry was eighteen already so he got a hard cider.
It was nice to be together again, just the three of us. Hanging out with Derry and Jackie felt effortless, unlike the stress I felt sometimes at school. I could finally relax and be myself. But once we started talking, I realized things were different now: I had secrets. A lot of secrets. I didn’t tell them about what had happened with Roisin, or my weird confrontation with Sebastian afterwards. And I didn’t tell them what I’d seen Ethan do with the leaf, or our private chat in the library. I wanted to, but I didn’t really have anything concrete to say; plus, without any evidence, I would probably sound crazy, especially if I let them know I could feel their emotions on my tongue like snowflakes. In fact, I realized, they were both worried about me. This was an intervention. They thought I was just being sad about my parents, or maybe about boy troubles, and they were trying to take me out and cheer me up.