Once the house settled after the match, I found myself in the kitchen again with Gram as I reluctantly helped with the cleanup. I preferred the torture of cleaning my own room. At least I could sweep everything under the bed in there.
“Gram, seriously. What would you think of me going to Ireland?” I pressed her to re-engage as I sat down with my cup of tea, drying the “special occasion” silverware.
Then a sudden sense of urgency flowed through my veins, a chill that hit my marrow. I dropped the serving spoon from my hand onto the table with a loud clang.
Gram blurred out into streaks of color blending into the kitchen. I froze with my eyes bulging and my heart racing.
The wind was coming.
Terror filled me in an instant, reminding me of its occupation of my soul.
I grabbed the wooden legs of my kitchen chair and held on for dear life. Wind, screams, fear—it was coming but I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t strong enough. My mother wasn’t here this time to help me and—
The wind surrounded me before I had time to draw in a full breath of air. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together to block the violent assault. The gusts burst into my ears and up my nose, filling every space in my skull, whirling around in my head, searching for the source of my being.
The urge to look for my mother held more power than my good judgment. I snuck one eye open, hoping for a glimpse of her beautiful face. Maybe she was still trapped there, in the wind, but all around me a vast emptiness swirled with mist and angry gusts.
Wetness clung to my skin as I stumbled forward into the void, shivering through the darkness and confusion. Alarm rose, widening my eyes as thoughts of death swirled around me. My heart pounded with such force I thought it would burst out of my chest. Gram’s words of Mom’s “heart condition” echoed in my thoughts. My shoulders rounded in as pain surged out of each spastic beat.
I raised my head to gasp for air as a rolling grassy slope appeared. It was like an Irish countryside, so familiar that a wave of relief blanketed my erratic heart. But only for a split second.
A massive rock flew up in front of me then, like a wall, nearly smashing me. I slapped my hands on it, annoyed as it blocked my view and my movement, and maybe a chance to see my mother.
Cold mist and salty spray pelted my face again in harsh slaps as I pushed through the blasts and the thick scent of marine life.
A bone-chilling sensation shuddered up my spine, warning me I wasn’t alone and definitely not welcome. My eyes darted around, trapped in my rigid body, searching for my age-old stalker.
I fought the primal urge to run, risking my safety for a possible second of contact with my mother, when from deep within my subconscious a sound began to rise unlike anything I had ever heard or had even known existed in this world. It was a heavy, guttural moan, one of loss and sorrow, and my hair stood on end.
As I squinted into the fog, following the direction of the sound, a form began taking shape and a face came together in the gray haze. It snarled and came at me out of the mist.
My instincts took over. I turned in an instant and ran for my life blindly through the fog. I tore across the green expanse and stumbled on the uneven ground. I didn’t have a chance.
Too terrified to look back, I flew through the mist and rain, leaving swirling trails off my elbows and back. The horrifying sound rang louder in my ears as I lost ground. The figure, though I didn’t know what or who it was, thundered just steps behind me.
A frozen chill ran through my heart—whatever that thing was had caught up to me. With a newfound burst of energy driven by pure terror, I hit high gear only to be brought to an abrupt halt.
On a shore, I had hit water’s edge. Splashing through the shallows, my pace was slowed to molasses, just like a freakish nightmare when you can’t run and your voice is lost. With no other option, I turned, hands raised, to face my attacker. A glint of bright light blinded me for a split second and—
SMASH!
My body dropped back down into my chair as my muscles released their death grip on my bones. I drew in a life-saving breath to fill my starving lungs and clutched at my chest to relieve the intense burning on my skin.
I recognized my surroundings: Gram’s kitchen. No one chasing me, no massive rock, no wind pounding me. I was safely sitting in my chair at the kitchen table with my cup of tea still steaming in front of me.
Gram stood by the sink, frozen, eyes wide with panic. Fragments of the broken plate she must have just dropped were strewn around the floor.
“I’m okay, Gram,” I lied, trying to convince myself as much as her. “I’m okay. It was just a dream.”
Yeah, a dream that was stalking me, luring me, maybe even trying to kill me. The nagging burn on my chest raised my inner alarm toward hysterical.
Gram blinked and then shifted her eyes to look directly into mine. Her expression loosened as she glided toward me, reaching for me with outstretched arms, as if she’d almost lost me. She smothered me in her hold.
“T’anks be t’ God you’re all right.”
“I’m so sorry, Gram. I’m okay now.” I tried to hide my panic and confusion from her. “This is just a weird thing that used to happen to me sometimes…when I was little.”
My awake dream had truly come back to haunt me, and right in front of Gram. Those were the two worst things that could ever have happened. Losing my mind was one thing, but for Gram to have any notion of it was quite another. She would only isolate me from life more now. She already controlled me too much as it was.
I blinked and squished my eyes to release the imposing images. I sniffled to clear the salty mist from my nostrils, surprised by the smell of the sea and damp earth still left there.
“It just hasn’t happened in a while, since before Mom….” I paused, smoothing my hair that was still strewn across my face. My dream’s connection to Mom and her death was undeniable now, at least in my mind. “But I’m okay. Really.”
Her mouth still hung open and her eyes were brimming with tears, proving she needed a better explanation.
“Mom used to help me when this happened, when I was little. She would hold me and talk to me until I came back. We used to call it my ‘awake dream.’” I hoped to normalize it as she listened without breathing.
With an uneasy sense of foreboding, I added, “I think it’s coming back.”
I peeked up from under my lashes, watching for her response.
Gram’s face dropped in despair as her eyes searched mine for a different explanation. Judging by her lost stare and the pinched anguish on her face, you’d think I had told her I was dying.
Chapter Two
Taking Flight
…and I was.
Gram knew it too.
The pale, drawn look on her face left no doubt in my mind. I was in trouble.
The gnawing in my gut hollowed me out, making me heave. I’d never imagined my own death before. I’d feared it, constantly, but never actually pictured it…until now.
Pursued.
Stalked.
Hunted.
My heart skipped out of rhythm, making me gasp. I clung to my chair, hovering in limbo, until my pulse came back to its steady pace. My hand pressed to the middle of my chest to confirm my heart was still beating. Was this how it started for Mom? Her “heart condition?”
The wind took her from me. I had no idea how, but its responsibility was clear. Had she had the same warning as me? Would she have been able to escape it? Could I?
Maybe there was a way I could have some control over this crazy curse. Find out what it wanted. Maybe put an end to it.
I pushed against the table, grinding the legs of my chair across the floor, and jumped up.
“I need air.” I left Gram in a blur behind me and ran for the backyard.
I jumped from the last few porch stairs into the grass and sailed down toward the garden. St. Brendan held the same look in his eye and welcomed me back, head still tilted, this time in curiosity.
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On my knees, I inched closer to the statue, looking deeply into its face. Instead of feeling its familiar nagging judgment of my fear and insecurity, I felt understood.
“What should I do?” I asked in a whisper. “I know you know.” I goaded it with a stare-down, feeling a strong spine for once.
Images from the visions returned in a flood, showing the green rolling fields, the mist, but then I could hear the sounds too. Ancient tin whistles, tribal and Celtic. Sounds I’d heard before from Joey’s old radio when he’d had too much Jameson, feeling nostalgic for home. The sounds were in my awake dream, though they were masked by the whirling chaos and my distracting terror. My vision pulled me away to Ireland, every time. I was sure of it.
“It’s in Ireland, right?” I asked Brendan. “The answer to all this mess. Right?” My voice grew louder and more persistent as I realized I was right.
Behind Brendan, on the back wall of his enclosure was a prayer. I’d seen it my entire life but never actually read it, until now.
THE PRAYER OF ST BRENDAN
Shall I abandon, O king of mysteries
The soft comforts of home?
Shall I turn my back on my native land
And turn my face toward the sea?
My eyes darted back to his, as if he had spoken. And I listened. I heard. For the first time in a very long time.
There was something in Ireland, luring me there. It couldn’t be denied any longer. Had it killed my mother? Was it trying to kill me? All I knew was that it had to be stopped.
But I was on my own now. More than ever.
~ ~ ~
“I want to go to Ireland,” I said. “I know it sounds crazy and impulsive….” My hand rose up to stop Joey from saying no too quickly. The idea of going to Ireland had hit me like a brick after my awake dream in the kitchen the night before and nothing else mattered anymore.
With Gram nowhere to be found, this was my chance to get Joey on my side. “And I know it’s not what you had in mind for me, but, seriously, it’s what I really want to do right now.” My wide eyes begged him.
Maybe Mom could have escaped. I needed to escape. I needed to change my direction, fast. My life depended on it. If I could find out the cause of the dreams, end them or find out what they wanted, then maybe it would all stop. Maybe I would be safe.
If only I had been able to do this for Mom, before it was too late. I hated myself for not being able to protect her.
Joey’s jaw fell and he stared blankly, shocked by my announcement. His expression went long and limp. Was he traveling back to Ireland in his mind, thinking about what it used to mean to him? He looked…lost.
Worried for him, I tilted my head and took a closer look. Standing over six feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds, Joey was strong and intimidating. Family stories described him as a scrapper, a street fighter, who never lost a match. His temper was something to fear—but in that moment, his eyes became misty and red and he struggled finding words to say.
I waited, like a verdict was about to be read, my fingers grabbing the fabric of my pants.
One last push. “I want to find where you and Gram came from, learn more about Ireland and who I am.”
Joey stumbled back and collapsed in his chair with his head down. I jumped to him, regretting every word, for causing him distress. My backpedaling was already forming in my mind. I’d go to BC. I’d go through the motions. Anything to keep him happy.
He raised his eyes off the floor, causing my heart to skip triple beats just as the doorbell rang.
“Joseph!” Paddy’s voice filled the house as he let himself in. “Joseph, me boy. I’ve come for the bloody mower.”
“Jazus, Paddy. ’Tis around back. You know the way.”
Joey’s assertive efforts at redirecting him failed. He was upon us in an instant.
“What have we here?” His arms went for miles as he embraced us both before we’d fully stood. “I miss somethin’?” He looked back and forth at us, sensing the intensity of our moment.
“She’s goin’ back to the Ol’ Country, Paddy.” Joey looked at me, lips in a thin line, mind made up.
I clapped my hands together and jumped as tears filled my eyes. “Thank you!” I flung my arms around him.
I loved my grandfather. I thought of all the times we played cards and how he would pass me slices of apple off the end of his tobacco-tarred jack knife. But I was determined to learn more about my family history and find a connection to my awake dreams. My last vision had been steeped in Irish images, sounds, and smells. I could only hope the answers I needed were hidden somewhere there.
I didn’t want to raise any alarm with my grandparents by disclosing the true nature of my trip—to understand Mom’s death and also, potentially, avoid my own. They were too old. Judging from Gram’s terror after my earlier awake dream, they might not have let me go if they realized that I was really planning on finding the source of my visions.
“Well, Joseph,” Paddy interjected, “I’ll be needin’ ta get Michael over here straight away to catch this lassie before some other bloke finds her.” His elbow jabbed at me as my heart jumped into my throat.
“Ah, ’tis too late now for poor Michael. Sure, she’s already on her way now, can’tcha see.” Joey stood proud, with his shoulders squared.
Could I really be going to Ireland? For real? I could go tomorrow—pack my bags, get on a plane, and find the answers I’ve been searching for. After all these years, I was finally getting my chance to actually figure things out.
~ ~ ~
“Have yeh a proper rain jacket and wellies?”
“Has yer passport arrived yet?”
Gram’s endless questions poked me in the eyes, raising my already spiking anxiety. Joey watched our pressure-cooker dance play out over the time it took to get organized and he planned his moments strategically, staying out of Gram’s way and catching my ear whenever he could.
He motioned for me to sit in my chair, next to his, in the living room. He looked back toward the kitchen to be sure Gram was nowhere around.
In a hushed tone he said, “I think me brother Eddie may still be in Claremorris. He was sixteen when I left. Big fella. Learning the way of the farm. Find him. Tell him about me and he’ll know who ya are then. He’ll have stories for yeh, I’m sure, grand stories even.” His eyes widened. “Don’t let ‘em go to yer head. The rest of them, well, I can’t be certain. Some kind of crazy carry-on when I left…I just don’t know.”
His rambling proved he wasn’t even sure about what he was saying.
Gram flew out of the kitchen with her internal sonar detector flashing like a strobe.
“Ach, sure, don’t listen to yer grandfather.” She swatted at his arm with her dishtowel. “Don’t be scarin’ her now.” Gram looked to me and added, “Mind you, his family stories are just one big exaggeration.”
Gram eyeballed Joey to shut him up.
Her overreaction to his stories halted our conversation—and it was odd because my grandfather hadn’t really disclosed anything alarming to merit her response. Or had he?
~ ~ ~
As ambitious freshmen battled for parking in Boston for the big move-in day to their respective college dormitories, I sat on my bed and stuffed my backpack, clicked the buckles on my suitcase, and drew the cords of my cinch sack, preparing for my transatlantic journey.
Could this really be happening?
“Take care of yerself, me Maeve.” Joey cleared his throat as he spoke and swallowed hard. Fighting tears, he said, “Find the O’Malleys in County Mayo and ye will find….”
He coughed and cleared his throat again with his closed fist at his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper.
“Use this map to find the O’Malleys in Claremorris. It will lead you to everything you’re looking fer. And maybe you’ll find some answers. Bring ’em back to me, will ya? Promise me.”
The simple map, drawn on a page ripped from a notebook, sat folded i
n my hand, small, but it held so much. Its weight made my hand drop slightly. A chill quaked my shoulders, making me shudder. I hoped I wouldn’t let him down.
“Maeve….” I turned toward the echoing voice behind me.
The emptiness of the room crushed in on me as my eyes bulged out of my head, searching for the unseen source.
I shot my gaze back to Joey, though he remained unaware.
Movement at the window made me flinch. A black bird perched on the narrow sill. It stepped to the side, exposing its regal red shoulder. A red-winged black bird. My mind filled up with thoughts of Mom. That was her favorite bird.
I ran into Joey, hugging him with all my might. Half for the sorrow of missing Mom, half for saying goodbye. His chest heaved against my head as he took quick, shallow breaths.
“God bless, me Maeve. I’ll miss ya, dear.” His voice cracked, barely audible, then he released me to lumber into the backyard and vanish into his shed.
I stood in the same place he left me. Self-doubt crept in to dampen my spirit, adding at least twenty pounds to my self-burden. What was I doing? My grandparents needed me. This was my home. I was happy here…and safe.
But was I happy here? Was I safe?
No.
I wondered, though, if I had what it took to actually do this. I was pretty much a coward up until now, like the shell of a real person. I couldn’t realistically expect that to change any time soon.
I straightened, took a deep breath and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. Time to find out.
~ ~ ~
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Gram’s reluctance seeped out of each syllable as she took the exit for Logan Airport.
“Gram, it’s fine. We have it all planned out. I’ve got a place to stay and everything. No worries.” Don’t fail me now, Gram. But regret shined out from deep within her guarded eyes—regret about my trip before I had even taken it.
“It’s too uncertain. Anything could happen. It’s too dangerous.” Her voice trembled with worry. She started to veer out of her lane from distraction.
Truth Seer (Irish Mystic Legends Book 3) Page 19