“Just give me a minute, will you?” she said, choosing to ignore the ‘my shop’ bit for now. “Put the broom down.”
By then, Kincaid had ambled up behind her. “Did you say the bird’s with you?”
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know. He told me this morning that he wants to hang around.”
“Told you…? Oh, right. Your gift.”
Brigid was still frozen in bird-battling position. “Get it out of here,” she said. “I mean it. No pets.”
“Put that thing down, Brigid,” Kincaid said firmly.
To Rain’s shock, the other girl obeyed. But not without a grudging glare. “You know how I feel about animals,” she said.
“Yes. And that’s why you’re going to back off and give Rain a moment to handle this.”
“Fine. Just get rid of it.”
Rain managed to breathe again as Brigid stalked back to the counter, broom in hand, looking more like a witch than ever. “Thank you,” she said to Kincaid, and gestured at the bird. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him—”
Before she could finish the sentence, Gavin leapt off and drifted gently down to land on her outstretched arm.
“I said no perching, Gavin,” she muttered.
“Gavin?” Kincaid stared at her. “You’ve named it?”
“Yes, well … it’s kind of a long story,” she sighed. Then to Gavin, she said, “I did warn you about her. What do you want?”
Gavin shook his feathers out. “It’s too—”
She cleared her throat. Loudly.
The bird seemed to frown. This time she got a few short, whistling calls and a series of images from him, the way she’d communicate with a bird that didn’t use real words. He was exhausted, the sun was too bright, and he needed somewhere dark to sleep but didn’t want to go into the woods for some reason. And by the way, did she have a mouse or two handy because the rabbit had gotten away.
“All right,” she said, trying not to notice the way Kincaid was looking at her. “I’ll take you upstairs for now. You can sleep there.”
Gavin bobbed his head a few times.
“Uh, Rain?” Kincaid said. “Did that bird just nod at you?”
“No. That was just normal bird movement.” She’d have to tell him not to use human gestures in front of other people, either. “I’d better take him away from your sister,” she said. “Can you come round when we’re done here, about six? Then we can go talk to the witness. I’d go now, but with the latest rumors we’re probably going to have a busy day here. People will want protection.”
“Sure.” With a last suspicious glance at the goshawk, he said, “See you, then.”
“See you.”
Rain watched him leave, and then turned and headed quickly for the back and the stairs leading to her apartment. “Be right back,” she said, as if Brigid would care.
She didn’t.
Shaking her head, Rain went up with Gavin still perched on her arm. She tried not to think this day couldn’t get any worse — because thinking that was usually an invitation for true disaster.
Chapter 33
Bairnskill Village – Paradise Pub
Rain dismounted faster than usual after Kincaid parked his motorcycle across the road from the pub. She really had to get her own transportation. Her father would sometimes let her borrow his mini Cooper, if she walked to the druid camp to get it. But only sometimes. And after her earlier observation, riding glued to Kincaid with her arms around his waist was a bit distracting.
There hadn’t been as many customers coming to the shop today as she expected. In fact, there were only two. She probably could’ve done this interview earlier, but leaving Brigid alone to handle people wasn’t the best idea. Besides, it had given her the opportunity to check on Gavin a few times. She’d left a window open for the goshawk in case he decided to go out hunting.
Mostly, he’d slept. He really was exhausted. She might ask him later just how far he’d come to get to the Isle of Parthas.
Paradise Pub was an old stone building with flame creepers growing on the walls, a red door, and a green roof. It was situated in what passed for the village’s business district, and the place already looked busy. She’d never been inside before. Her father and Poppy got their beer from the brewer at the camp.
“You’re sure he’s in there?” she said to Kincaid as he pulled his helmet off.
“That’s what his wife said.” He stared at the door to the pub for a moment. “Er, there might be one thing I neglected to mention,” he said. “You see that sign in the window?”
She looked. The sign was in fairly large letters, but from over here she still had to squint to make it out.
It said NO DRUIDS.
“Oh, fantastic,” she said. “When did they put that up?”
“After Glynis … well, you know.”
“Oh.” Unfortunately, she did know. It happened while she was gone. Glynis had tried to help a very sick little girl, Elyssa Wharvey, after the doctors had given up on her. But the girl’s mother had given her a severe overdose of the potion Glynis made for her, and she’d died.
Then half the village had come after Glynis and tried to burn her at the stake.
She’d escaped somehow — her father refused to give her any details, though she knew he’d been involved — and left the clan soon after. Since then, relations between the villagers and the druids had been strained, to say the least.
“All right,” she finally said. “So how are we going to get to Colm O’Shea?”
“Here’s the thing,” Kincaid said. “Most everyone knows me, but they don’t know you. I figured you could go in there and find him, ask him to come out here. Then we’ll talk to him.”
“But I don’t even know what this guy looks like.”
“He’s a regular. The bartender’ll be able to point him out.”
She frowned and sent a dubious look at the pub. “And what if someone does recognize me?” she said. “I did work with Glynis at the apothecary for a year, remember?”
“If they do, just get out. Fast.”
“Great advice.” She smirked and shook her head. “Okay, but if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”
Kincaid held a hand over his heart. “I’ll take full responsibility,” he said with a smile.
“Right. Here goes.”
Before her nerve could fail, she strode rapidly across the road and walked inside.
The pub was dark and smelled of whiskey and wood. The place was fairly full, but the noise was minimal. Just the constant hum of friendly chatter and the occasional clink of a glass. Most of the patrons barely glanced up when the door opened, but as she made her way to the bar, she felt eyes on her.
It only took a moment to locate the source. There was a group of four men at a corner table, gathered around a pitcher. One of them was glaring heavily at her.
She’d definitely have to make this fast.
The bartender, a tall and somber-looking man in a crisp green apron, greeted her less than a minute after she reached the bar. “Get ye somethin’, Miss?” he said.
“Actually, I’m looking for someone,” she said. “Colm O’Shea. Do you know him?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s askin’?”
She thought fast. Offering her name would be disastrous — everyone in the village knew her father. “Dawn,” she said, giving her middle name so she’d be less likely to forget the lie. “I’m … a constable in training, working with Inspector Walsh.”
“Huh,” the bartender said. “To hear O’Shea tell it, ye’d think you lot were ready to lock him up in a nice white coat.”
“I just have a few routine follow-up questions,” she said. “So if you’d be so kind as to point him out?”
After a beat, the bartender pointed to a small man in a canvas jacket, hunched over a drink at the end of the bar. “That’s him.”
“All right. Thank you.”
She hurried down the bar, glancing at the corner table as
she went. Now the four men were having an intense discussion, with the one who’d glared at her gesturing angrily. She had a feeling her welcome was about to wear out.
“Colm O’Shea?” she said when she reached the man.
He looked up warily. “Yeah?”
“Sir, I’m from the constabulary,” she said. “Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment? I just have a few questions about the … um, incident last night.”
“By incident, you mean old Brody.” Colm let out a loud sigh and put back one of the four shots of whiskey in front of him. “Look, I already talked to that inspector fella. Told him the God’s honest truth, and he didn’t believe a word of it. Why d’you want to hear it again, young miss?”
“Because I’ll believe you,” she said.
“Sure. And I’m Saint Patrick hisself.”
She gave a quick look around and leaned close to him. “It was some beast no one’s ever seen,” she whispered. “Something impossible, straight out of a nightmare. Am I close?”
Colm’s eyes widened. “Spot on,” he blurted. “It was a great, shaggy—”
“Wait.” She held a hand up. “I’d rather talk outside, if you don’t mind,” she said. “You have vital information we need to get this beast, and there’s too many ears in here.”
“Oh, right.” Looking sheepish, the man stood from the stool and swayed a bit, then downed another shot. “Lead the way, young miss.”
“We appreciate your cooperation.”
She headed for the door, avoiding a look at the increasingly animated conversation and the stares from the corner table. With a few glances back to make sure Colm hadn’t fallen over along the way, they made it outside, and she led him across the road to where Kincaid waited.
Colm stared at the healer. “You’re a druid,” he said, a bit too loudly. “They’re making druids into constables now, are they?”
“Um. Constable?” Kincaid said, shooting a look at Rain.
“Long story.” She grimaced and turned her focus to the witness. “Now, Colm,” she said. “What can you tell us about Brody Barnes?”
“Well now. I warned him that he should go and see you people, didn’t I? Because of that hex mark. But Brody, he never listened. Knew he’d stubborn himself to death.” Colm shook his head sadly. “And then the great dog got him. Chewed him up something fierce.”
Rain shivered inwardly and looked at Kincaid. His expression said he felt the same apprehension. “All right, let’s take this one step at a time,” she said. “What great dog?”
Colm frowned. “First there was lightning, and then the dog,” he said. “Big as a cow, it was. I thought it was black at the start, but it was green. Dark green, with red eyes and its tail all in a braid, coiled up like a snake.” He shuddered hard. “Brody, he jumped in the water when it was comin’ straight for us. Thought I was done for. But the thing acted like it didn’t even see me. Went right after him.”
“Right.” So the dog-beast wasn’t randomly attacking. It had a specific target. Which could actually work in their favor, if they could identify the next target before it was too late. “Mr. O’Shea, you said something about a hex mark?”
“Aye, and I warned him.” He gave an earnest nod. “It was right here, on his neck,” he said, holding a hand over the side of his own throat. “At first it wasn’t nothin’ but a few faint scratches, like cat claws. He got them ’bout a week prior. But them marks, they kept gettin’ worse, uglier. He was scratchin’ at ’em for days. And last night they were turnin’ to black when the great dog came.”
A lead weight settled deep in Rain’s gut, and her hand went instinctively to her arm — which had begun to itch again. “Cat scratches,” she whispered. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive. His missus told him to see the doc, but I told him, those are hex marks to be sure. I told him to see the druids. You lot, I mean. Didn’t know there was constable druids. That’s some thing, innit?”
“All right,” Rain said weakly, avoiding a look at Kincaid. “Thank you, Mr. O’Shea. You’ve been very helpful.”
“So you’ll be able to kill this beast, then?” he said. “And I’ve helped. Is there a small reward in this for me, by chance?”
Just then, the pub door burst open and the men from the corner table piled out. The one who’d glared at her pointed, and the group started toward them as one.
Kincaid groaned. “What’s this, now?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I think—”
“Hey! Finlay girl,” the leader shouted.
“That someone recognized me,” she finished lamely.
“You don’t say,” he muttered. Then his eyes widened as he focused on the leader. “Oh, Christ.”
“What?”
Before Kincaid could answer, the men reached them and stopped a foot away. One of them took Colm O’Shea aside. “What are you doing with these buggers?” he said. “Best get back inside, O’Shea, before you’re banned from the pub.”
Colm swallowed rapidly. “All right, Johnny. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” With a frantic glance at Rain and Kincaid, he scrambled back across the road and vanished inside.
The leader folded arms that were almost as big as her father’s — which was pretty damned big. “Ye’ve got some nerve coming here, Miss Finlay,” he said. “Since ye did, ye can give yer father a message for me.”
She tried to glare, but it didn’t feel very threatening. “What’s that?”
“Ye tell him if he ever shows his face in this village again, I’ll finish what I started and carve the rest of it off.” He leered suddenly. “And as for yerself, Miss—”
Kincaid stepped forward suddenly, with dark and threatening features and a spell bag in one upraised hand. “You lads want to step back,” he said. “Right now.”
They all did. Even the leader took a half-step backwards, though the leer didn’t leave his face. “I remember ye, boy,” he said. “Don’t think ye won’t pay for yer part in this. And do ye really think I’m afraid of yer little pouch, there?”
“Are you? Well, let’s consider this here bag,” he said. “Might be it’s a nice, soothing herbal tea, perfect for sore throats and sniffles. Or might be it’s a nasty hex that’ll break every bone in your body at once.” He moved forward, and the group shrank away. “Which of you tough lads wants to find out?”
They moved away, muttering. When they reached the middle of the road, the leader turned and glowered at them. “Don’t ye ever set foot near this place again,” he said. “Because next time, I’ll be waiting for ye. And ye’ll never see me comin’.”
Rain didn’t dare breathe until they were inside the pub with the door shut. Then, she closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. “All right. Who was that?”
“That,” Kincaid said, “was Finnegan Wharvey.”
“Oh, Lord. Elyssa’s father.”
“The very same.” He tucked the spell bag in a pocket and headed for his bike. “Not to change the subject or anything, but is there something you want to mention? Something about scratches?”
She hesitated for a long moment. “You remember when the banshee scratched me,” she said.
“I do. That’s why I mentioned it.” He grabbed the black helmet, but didn’t put it on. “Please tell me they’ve healed,” he said.
“Not exactly,” she admitted in a whisper.
Blanching, Kincaid dropped the helmet on the ground as he grabbed her arm and pushed her sleeve up — revealing the jagged red lines that had begun to seep a little blood. “Rain,” he said in strangled tones. “That thing’s going to come after you.”
“I know.” The weight in her gut increased, sending waves of nausea through her, but she gave him a determined look. “So I’m going to find it first, before it finds me.”
Chapter 34
Druid Encampment – Finlay Cabin
Lachlan Finlay was at his worktable when Rain walked in without knocking. He looked up, and she found herself staring at th
e long scar that marked his face from eye to jaw, the one he refused to tell her about.
Well, now she knew who’d put it there. And it didn’t make her feel much better.
“What are ye staring at, girl?” her father said somewhat roughly. “Have I grown a third eye?”
“Not yet,” she said, moving slowly toward the couch. “Good evening to you too, Da’. Things are great in the new place. Thanks for asking.”
He sighed and put down the cloth and thread he’d been holding. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear,” he said. “Ye look troubled, Rhiannon. What’s happened?”
“What hasn’t?” She peered around the corner into the kitchen, but it was empty. “Is Poppy here?”
“He’s in his room, far as I know,” her father said. “So ye’re not keen on sharing this with me, I take it.”
She frowned. “It’s just that I don’t want to explain it twice.”
“That bad, is it?” he said almost gently. “All right, then. I’ll fetch him.”
“Thanks, Da’.”
He left the room, and she decided to sit down — if ‘decide’ meant collapse on the couch before she could fall. This day had been one shock after another, from the talking bird to finding out she was scheduled to be mauled to death by a giant dog. Whatever adrenaline had carried her this far, it was draining fast, leaving behind nothing but fear.
And the fear was something she’d have to embrace, if she wanted to survive.
Her father returned quickly with her grandfather. Poppy took one look at her and sat beside her, taking her hand gently in his. “All right, my girl,” he said. “We’re both here for ye. Tell us what’s gone wrong.”
She drew a deep breath, and started explaining.
By the time she relayed all the details about the beast, her father’s expression had darkened considerably. “That’s a black dog, and no mistake,” he said. “Sounds like a Cú Sídhe. The worst of the lot.”
“Wait,” Rain said. “So there’s more than one kind of black dog?”
“Aye. And this one’s faerie.”
“Great. I’m sensing a theme here.” It was getting a lot harder not to believe in faeries lately. The banshee had supposedly been faerie, too. She’d been able to kill it with the sword that had belonged to her mother — hers now, since her father gave it to her to use against the duin’alla — because it was made of cold iron. “That means the sword will work on it,” she said. “Right?”
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