by Kate Gellar
Sylvie lingered by the paneled door and ran a hand over the wood.
Abby watched her as did Sam. She remembered what he’d told her by the tree, about how the castle was built upon a seal.
“Can you feel it, Abby?” Sylvie said. “There’s energy behind this door.”
Sam stepped forward. “It’s only the electricity box. This whole place hums. I think it’s the volcanic rock that makes it do that. Don’t know why.”
Sam ushered them both out of the room. Sylvie gave her a look that said she didn’t believe him.
Abby knew what was in there, what Sam wouldn’t say in front of Sylvie. She just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
19
Abby
Abby returned to her room and tried to put the information about witches and queens out of her mind. She reminded herself of the real reason she’d applied for this sham program: to learn about the history of Ireland.
But this was still history, wasn’t it?
No Abby, real history, not made up mythological stuff that Sam or Sylvie said.
Her phone stayed quiet all night. When her mind refused to settle, she distracted herself with thoughts about more normal things. She hoped Wendy was doing okay. If Wendy and Paul were meant to be, it would have happened by now.
After a night of sporadic sleep, she got up and vowed to put all this new information aside, just until she’d had a chance to process it.
It was Tuesday and Abby had been assigned to work with Brendan in the livery. She arrived earlier than the 9 a.m. start to explore the stables and discovered three beautiful chestnut horses munching on hay inside their enclosures. Two stood to the rear of their stables, while another with a white diamond pattern on its nose stood up front. Abby walked up to the horse and petted it. Boy, girl—she didn’t know. The horse whinnied and she smiled.
Brendan strutted into the livery like he was a god. His shoulder-length blond hair was tied back in a low ponytail. Following him were the two girls from her gardening group the day before: Emma and Astrid. Abby was disappointed to find both women were kitted out in overalls and rubber boots. She had been looking forward to seeing them muck out the stables in summer dresses and sandals.
Abby spent most of the morning cleaning the stable of her new favorite horse. Brendan showed her how to groom him and what strokes to use. He kept his distance from her, making sure to stand back when Abby stepped up to try. He had no problem getting up close and personal with Emma, she noticed. Emma giggled when she messed up and asked him to show her the technique one more time.
A smiling Brendan lapped up the attention as he continued to flirt with Emma and Astrid. But with Abby, Brendan’s smile never warmed past ice cold.
Abby distracted herself by brushing her horse’s mane. She couldn’t figure Brendan out. First she’d felt a powerful connection between them in the Great Hall before his set up of the presentation. Then Brendan had ignored her to the point where she thought she’d imagined it. Sam had told her this castle was special. She couldn’t help wondering if the boys assigned to run it should be included in that summation.
That evening after a much needed shower and dinner, Abby attempted to make friends. Sam excused himself, said he had work to do in his office. Liam and Brendan chatted to a few of the girls in the living room. When she’d tried to join in, the boys had stared at her and the girls, including her favorite group buddies—Emma and Astrid—both gave her looks that told her to fuck off. So she did, back to her room.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket, eager to talk to someone. But neither Wendy nor Paul had replied to the last text she’d sent during lunchtime. And with no sign of Sylvie—she presumed she was in her room, but knocked and got no answer—Abby decided something.
She waited until the girls retired for the evening. Downstairs was unusually quiet as she stepped off the last stair, but she detected low murmurings coming from outside, beyond the kitchen. It sounded like two people talking outside. One was male, the other female. Abby’s heart pounded as she neared the room, unsure of what she might see. Through the window she caught sight of two shadows and heard voices that increased in volume.
“I’m really glad you invited me here, Brendan.” It was the English girl Emma, the one from Abby’s group.
Abby’s heart squeezed with jealousy.
She slipped into the pantry with a full-length window to the outside, and inched toward it until she could see them both. Brendan had his back against the wall, while Emma leaned her body into his. She trailed a finger along the side of Brendan’s arm. That didn’t bother her as much as Brendan, who seemed to get off on the attention.
“I’m glad you’re here, too.” He leaned against the wall in a way that gave Emma full access to him. Emma took full advantage and stood between his parted legs.
“I’m always available for other things, you know,” said Emma stroking his arm with her finger.
Abby would never be bold enough to say that to a guy. That was probably why she was still single.
Brendan’s eyes raked over Emma’s body and he flashed his trademark flirty grin. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
Emma leaned in and kissed him. Abby saw Brendan hesitate a moment before he kissed her back until all Abby saw was a tangle of tongues. Bile rose up into her throat and she snatched her gaze away. Why did it bother her? Brendan wasn’t anyone to her. He was another guy, a hot one at that, who she’d known for a few days. She had no claim over him.
Yet, the burning, insane jealousy that threatened to ignite her bones left her shaking and lightheaded. She slipped out of the pantry and back into the kitchen before either of them saw her spying on them. This wasn’t high school, and Brendan wasn’t her boyfriend. She shook away her silly schoolgirl crush, feeling better the further away she got from him.
Abby stopped outside Sam’s office. She knocked, but there was no answer. She turned the handle and opened the door a crack.
“Hello?”
Hearing no reply, she pushed the door open. Sam had already said she could borrow a novel from his office. She wasn’t certain that invitation meant while he wasn’t there. The boys weren’t around to ask, and no way would she interrupt that little tongue fest outside to ask Brendan.
She closed the door quietly. Sam’s desk was neat and tidy with a computer on it and a dial desk phone that looked like it belonged in a museum. She picked up the receiver and smiled when she heard a dial tone.
Huh. In an era of smart phones and social media, it was nice to see a little of the old ways.
She wondered what it would be like to transport back to a time without technology, to an age where letter writing was the norm. Knowing what she did, what was possible now, Abby imagined that life would be torture.
She shimmied behind Sam’s chair to access a selection of books on the shelves behind it. John Grisham, Patricia Cornwell. Mostly crime books alongside a few goblin Fantasy books. Abby picked up one of the John Grisham books. She read the cover, The Firm. She’d seen the movie but had never read the book.
It might kill a few hours, if she could concentrate long enough. She searched around for a scrap of paper, and grabbed a page from the printer. She scribbled out a note to Sam: Borrowed The Firm.
She put the pen down with a sigh; she wasn’t really in the mood to read crime. She slipped the book back on the shelf, crumpled up the paper, and tossed it in the waste basket.
Abby headed for the library on the other side of the stairs, the one containing the oldest books she’d ever seen. Sam hadn’t said the room was off limits, yet she felt strange entering the library without his permission. She closed the door, drawn to the books here more than the ones on Sam’s shelf.
The shelves held the rarest collection of books she’d ever seen. She picked up a few leather bound books, releasing a plume of dust into the air. She sneezed then clamped her hand over her mouth to dull the noise.
Abby sat on the floor with her collection, and read. There wa
s no way Sam would let her take these books out of the room. She opened the first one on Irish mythology. She read stories about Cu Chullainn and The Children of Lir. She closed it and picked up another book titled Queen Maebh. From her studies, Abby was familiar with the stories on Irish folklore, but also because her mom and dad, both Irish, had recounted similar tales when she was young.
She opened the book and the first thing she saw was a drawing of the Queen with long curly red hair. Similar to hers. She flicked to the third chapter. The title almost stopped her heart: Guardians. She flicked to chapter four: Witches. Chapter five talked about the queen herself. This was the story Sam had told her. She slammed the book closed. Had he memorized this book and passed it off as the truth?
Her curiosity pushed her on to reopen the book and read the chapter on the queen in full. It mentioned that for a guardian to reach his full potential and protect the seal, he must bond with a queen. Witches could be good or bad, white or dark, depending on their purpose. White witches could be allies to the queen and guardian. Dark witches would do everything they could to steal the guardian’s power and weaken him.
This was everything Sam had told her.
She nearly flung the book clear across the room until she remembered it was probably older than her.
Abby turned the page to a cluster of photos in the middle of the book. One was an old photo of three unsmiling women with a date of 1861, Ireland. Three local witches, the description said. But one face stood out from the rest. Abby gasped and dropped the book. It made a slapping sound when it hit the floor. She leaned over the picture. The woman in the middle wore a black hood which covered her face and equally black hair. Hers was a face so familiar, Abby could barely breathe.
She scooted back from the book until she hit the bookshelf. The books rattled overhead but never fell. Not that she cared if they did.
All she saw was the picture of her mother that both terrified and fascinated her.
She glanced at the hooded female with hair as dark as Ivy Brennan’s. But underneath the picture was a different name: Abigail Quinn.
20
Abby
What the hell? The book in Abby’s hand barely made it back onto the shelf. She stumbled out the door and ran to the stairs, almost meeting Brendan and his “date” as their voices projected from the kitchen. Her chest hurt from taking tight breaths, but she pushed through the pain and took the stairs two at a time. She slipped inside her room, relieved not to have met anyone, and locked her door. That night she dreamed of Queen Maebh. Except Abby was the queen.
Birds chirping and a bright sun became her alarm clock the next morning. Abby shook off her memories of last night. Even Brendan’s little tryst was almost forgotten about.
Almost.
She groaned when she checked Wednesday’s schedule pinned to the notice board in the hall. Her group of three would be working with Murphy that day. Murphy was the only one out of the four she couldn’t figure out. Sam was in charge and sensible. Liam was the optimist. Brendan was the never-to-be-tied-down flirt. Obviously.
Murphy kept to himself and Abby had met him only once, on her first day.
Just Murphy. Too important for a first name, apparently.
She found him in the grounds repairing a perimeter fence to contain the horses. Emma and Astrid had arrived earlier than her and Abby saw they had stuck with their overalls and boots from the day before. Both of them hovered around Murphy, wearing low cut tops under their overalls that had been left unbuttoned to show off their breasts. Abby kept hers buttoned to her neck. It was still too damn cold.
Murphy acted aloof with the girls and barked out occasional instructions as Abby approached. But every now and again she caught Murphy checking the more provocatively dressed pair out. A stab of jealousy stopped Abby mid-step. Where did that come from? Murphy had been the least friendly to her since her arrival on Sunday. Why should she care who he looked at?
Her overalls buttoned all the way up not only removed all chances of Murphy looking at her, but also felt too modest and restrictive in the presence of these sexed-up girls. Wendy was always telling her to use her assets more. But then Murphy’s hostile eyes landed on hers and all jealous thoughts dropped like a rock. A deep shiver ran through her as she met his glare. She couldn’t work him out at all. Then he snatched his gaze away and concentrated on the fence.
Abby you’re being oversensitive. Yeah, that was it. Murphy probably glared at all people. Now that he’d noticed the prude among the sexed-up women, he saw nothing of interest. She glanced down at her green overalls and rubber boots. Who could blame him?
The day dragged on and her mind drifted back to the photo of her mother, or a woman who looked very like her, in one of the castle’s old books. Work had been a quiet affair. Murphy talked only to hand out instructions. Her two work colleagues were as thick as thieves. They lunched together while Murphy grabbed a handful of sandwiches and sat outside, well away from the castle.
As the working day drew to a close, she had forgotten all about the program’s promise to teach the participants about the history of Ireland. Ever since Sam had given her the alternative history of the castle, none of that seemed to matter anymore.
Abby returned her overalls and boots to the mudroom and grabbed her stuff from her bedroom to have a quick shower before dinner. On the way out, she grazed her fingers over the symbol on her door to find it cold. A relieved Abby discovered the bathroom was empty. Before anyone else came in, she turned on the shower and jumped in. She braced for the same shock she’d felt on the first day, but it was like it had been a one-off phenomenon. As was the thing with the symbol on her door that had felt as hot as her necklace, or the restrictive feeling inside her room that had impeded her exit. No, she hadn’t felt that inside her room, but she had felt it in other parts of the castle: a little during Brendan’s presentation, and a lot when she’d neared the gates. She stuck her face under the stream of hot water and washed away some of her errant thoughts. The hot water soothed her aching muscles. Today had involved too much beam lifting and post hitting. But it had served as a good distraction.
She had promised Sam she’d stay a week. No more. She admitted to feeling an uncontrollable energy source from this castle rather than a power, as Sam had suggested. Her theory of EMF had yet to be disproved. The picture, well, that had to be a coincidence. She should ask Sam about it. He would probably have a good explanation for it. But a part of her didn’t want to know.
As she squeezed body wash into her hands, Abby reminded herself this place was nothing more than an ordinary castle with four guys—yeah, they were all hot—who ran a program to lure nubile young women to stay room and board in exchange for free labor. Okay, it sounded creepy when she laid it all out like that. If she dropped a call to the local police, what would they have to say about this cult?
Abby soaped up her body and face, washing away the grime of the day. Yet, it didn’t feel like cult. It felt like a place to where she belonged.
That’s ridiculous, Abby.
She washed her hair and applied conditioner to it, trying to push the rest of her errant thoughts from her mind. But they were stubborn.
Why then did she feel a connection? Had it to do with the space hidden behind the wood panel in the living room? Was that where the seal was located?
Abby turned off the water and towel dried her skin. She stepped out and froze when she came face-to-face with Emma, the English girl from her group—and Brendan’s new girlfriend apparently. Abby shifted her towel higher and squeezed out the excess water from her long hair. Emma stood with her arms folded and stared at her. She was a pretty girl with straight long-blonde hair and round, sensual eyes. She could see why Brendan liked her.
Emma’s gaze raked over Abby’s covered body. Abby had lost a few inhibitions since Sunday. She had no time to be shy in this bathroom.
At least the room was girls only.
“Hey,” Abby said.
“So you like him?”
said Emma.
Abby collected her toiletry bag from the chair and carried it over to the sink. “Like who?”
“Brendan. You know, the guy who looks like a model and sounds like he comes from Irish money.”
She hadn’t given it much thought. Liar.
“I don’t really know him.”
“Because I do, and Astrid likes Murphy.” The ice-blonde Swedish girl with the cat-like eyes was welcome to him.
“Oh-kay.”
She turned to the mirror and pushed her hand through the steam. Emma came up behind her, her eyes like daggers.
“I’ve seen how you look at Brendan and Murphy.”
“How, exactly?” She’d barely acknowledged either man.
“I’m telling you now, cut it out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Abby. It was the truth. She couldn’t have dressed more down around them if she tried.
“Listen, the red-hair Irish thing might work for you back home, but we’re in Ireland and you’re nothing special here. Red hair is like...potatoes.”
Abby stifled a laugh at Emma’s analogy. That was a new one. “Okay, whatever you say.”
Emma stepped closer to the mirror, pointing her finger at Abby. “I’m serious. Brendan is into me, and Murphy, well, he’s sex on legs and you don’t compare to a girl like Astrid. She’s exotic in Ireland.”
Astrid was stunning and had enough meat on her bones to give her curves in all the right places.
Abby turned around, resting her hands on the counter edge. “Look, I’m not sure when you and Astrid decided I was competition, but I’m not here to hook up with anyone. You’re welcome to them.”
Emma regarded her warily. Then she said, “Good. Because you’re out of their league.”
“If you say so. Can I get back to it now?” She kept her cool, but inside her chest ached from the insult.
Emma walked over to the shower and stripped down to her bare skin right in front of her. Abby noticed how perfectly proportioned her breasts were to her perfectly proportioned hips. Abby had wider hips, bigger waist, and a bigger bust. Her combination was all wrong.