Curse Raider (Irish Mystic Legends Book 2), page 1
Curse Raider
Irish Mystic Legends Book Two
Jennifer Rose McMahon
Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Rose McMahon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Rebecca Frank
Edited by Naomi Hughes
Dubhdara Publishing
To Maggie
For your friendship and fierce loyalty
Contents
Book Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
21. Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
22. Truth Seer teaser
About the Author
Also by Jennifer Rose McMahon
Book Two
CURSE RAIDER
by Jennifer Rose McMahon
Chapter 1
And now, I was a million miles away.
Swiping at the thick fog that blurred my vision, I stared into the perfect clarity of the bright blue sky. The smoke-like curtain parted for a brief moment, allowing me to see across the choppy Irish sea to far-off, rolling green hills but then the shroud closed again. It wasn't the weather causing the impenetrable haze though. It was my clouded, drugged mind.
Startled by my own self-awareness, I sucked in my breath as if waking from a shocking dream. I turned around to take in my surroundings and in an instant it came crashing down on me.
Lucidity.
And the haunting reality of my situation.
A glorious Irish landscape sprawled across the horizon beyond the vast stretch of sea, but looming behind me were the stark gray exterior walls of my prison. Memory of who I was flooded me while vile sickness rose in my throat. I’d been imprisoned against my will for rehabilitation—or cleansing, as some called it. I'd started to lose track of time as each day bled into the next in a morphed time warp.
I wouldn’t let them drug me again. I couldn’t. It was my only chance at holding on to myself and getting off this island prison.
I didn’t belong here.
None of us did.
But there was no hope of changing the minds of my captors. The witch hunt led by God-fearing believers had convinced everyone I danced with the devil. Only my closest circle, the other gifted ones, knew the truth. They called it second sight.
I was a seer.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my visions—the wind, the weightlessness, and the things I saw during my episodes. But no matter how hard I concentrated, I couldn’t conjure a new event—one that would transport me away from this captivity. And of all times, now was when I needed one the most.
I kicked at the sand beneath my feet, frustrated from not being able to use my gift. Looking back over my shoulder, I glanced around, fighting the feeling of being watched. My captors rarely let me out of their sight, and now they were likely searching for me.
Had I sent a note for help? Maybe more than once. Or had that been a dream? I vaguely remembered sneaking a note onto the ferry that visited the island each week, but the details floated through my head, lost in the haze.
It was the haze of my drug induced stupor. It had shut down all vision and I remained lost in the confines of this horrid, abusive corrections facility. Locked away from society for quiet reflection and prayer, it was enough to make me truly insane. Or in their minds, more insane.
It certainly wasn't difficult to see why the local superstitious folk, led by Sister Margaret and Mrs. Flannery, were intimidated by me—always staring into oblivion in random trances, rambling of time travel, and embarking on a never-ending search through castle ruins for a friend lost in the abyss. They were the ones responsible for having me sanctioned here.
But there was a lot more to their aggressive actions than concern over my mental wellbeing. They intended to stop not only me, but all of the gifted ones. And somehow, they knew I was the key to the success of their extermination crusade. I just didn’t know how, or why, but I was determined to find the answers.
I stared at the solemn gray building, once a retreat for monks long ago, and a shiver ran through me. Inside it held a variety of broken teenage girls, some truly unwell and others becoming unwell from the cold-hearted treatment of the uncaring, stoic nurses within. Tired nuns ran the place, biding their time as part of their duty to 'helping others', but most seemed to have lost their souls while waiting for their transfer to the next, more glamorous, mission.
My eyes widened as the fresh air entering my lungs purged whatever haze was left in my brain and I stood taller.
Now was my chance.
This brief moment of clarity gave me the chance to escape and there was no time to second guess the unexpected gift. Scanning the edge of the lapping water and then focusing out to sea, I considered the limitations of the small island with only one building, no boat, and a single purpose.
Captivity.
Too far to swim, it would be certain death to even try. I grabbed my hair in clenched panic. Think, Izzy, think.
I scoured the beach. Driftwood. Broken crab trap. Rope.
I shook my head in doubt at the usefulness of my random scavenged bits. But there had to be something better, like a hidden boat somewhere, for emergencies. I tore around the bend of the coast for a better view in search of a secret dock or maybe a shed.
"Stop right there. Not another step!" A wicked voice shot me point-blank in my back. "Sanctions. More demerits for wanderin' beyond the approved borders of the home." Then a sickening laugh. "Keep it up, girleen, and you'll have no privileges left whatsoever."
I spun around in terror and locked eyes with Sister Francis.
She approached with a sinister smirk that sent a clear flight message through my shaking bones.
I was in real danger, and it stood right in front of me.
Her eyes narrowed with each step closer, calculating what she would do with the opportunity I'd presented to her—how she might torture me this time. My death gaze made no attempt at hiding my contempt for her arrogant control over me, and likely fueled her evil planning.
"You'll have yer meals alone now. Can't be trusted. Ya shan't be given any freedoms here forward. Sure, look at ya, gazing out across the sea. Thinkin' of a swim perhaps?"
My spine straightened. "No, I, I just needed some fresh air. I didn't mean to wander so far."
The clarity in my mind forced me to remain compliant and apologetic, even though my civility caused me to grind on my molars in frustration. If I was careful enough, I'd be able to appear over-medicated, so not to raise any alarm that I might actually be thinking for myself. Drooped eyes and slow speech might help make my escape possible.
I scratched my head and looked around like I was lost. "I'm not really sure how I got out here. I think I might need a rest."
"Ya don't fool me, child." She stepped closer, peering into my eyes. "Ya look rather bright eyed ta me, like a sly fox."
Her cold words sent panic through my heart. She held no care or affection for me, or for any of us, refusing to ever call us by name and then referring to me only as 'child' or 'girleen'. It was her attempt at making me feel unimportant and needy. It was even more frustrating for me because at eighteen, I was light years ahead of most my age with what felt like lifetimes of formidable experience.
I had to get off the island before it was too late. Before I lost touch with who I was—before I got transformed into a lobotomized zombie. Or worse, had my spirit broken and became a conforming simpleton.
I also had to keep faith that Ryan would still be trying to get me out of here as well. I just had to believe that.
"Really, I think I just need a rest," I said again.
"And a rest is what you'll get. We won't be allowin' any of yer carry-on here, in a house of worship. Ya won't be conjuring the beast or speakin' with anyone in the beyond. Not while yer here under my watch."
Oh my god. She was drinking the Kool-Aid too. She believed every word of the angry mob who wanted to cleanse their town of its magic-wielding misfits. I pictured the torches and pitchforks that danced in her mind and I was shaken by her simplicity.
My visions made me misunderstood, that was for sure. They made me look like a freak to those who feared the unknown. Ryan and his grandmother, Maureen, were the same. But we meant no harm, keeping to ourselves.
Our kind once held honorable labels, like mystic and wise-ones, but that had all changed somehow. Now we were targeted for being different, like we were a threat to their rigid social order.
"Let's go!" She yanked at my arm. "Time fer yer medicine."
I stumbled along the path with her roughly tugging at my wrist. Every fiber of my being begged to pull away and run, but there was nowhere to go. And I knew my best chance was to play along and fly under the radar as just another compliant patient. The thought of being medicated again made me panic though.
"I'm sure I'll be fine once I have a nap. I really don't think I need any medicine, thank you." My voice caught in my constricting throat.
"Mmhm. Ya really think we'd have any control at all 'round here without the help of yer meds? Come on, now, girl. Ya must be smarter than that." She pushed me through the rusted metal door at the front entrance. "To the infirmary.”
My mind raced, planning how I would avoid swallowing any pills she gave to me. I was certain the first check would be under my tongue, so up at my gums inside my cheek would be better. I just couldn't remember how they actually checked to be sure the meds were taken and prayed this plan would work.
We pushed through the white door into the infirmary and I caught a glimpse of Jayne—my one friend here. Well, sort of. We were both out of it most of the time but every once in a while we'd have eye contact at just the right moment and laugh our asses off at the absurdity of our situations. Kindred spirits in hell.
But at the moment, Jayne was not well. She slumped in her chair with her head propped against the wall. Drool trickled down her chin and her eyes stared off at nothing. My heart rate accelerated ten-fold.
Please God. Don't let that happen to me.
Begging for God's help was always an indicator of true fear for me. And that idea alone sent my alarm to a higher point.
"Take this." Sister Francis handed me a cup of orange juice then turned back to the nurse behind the counter. Whatever meds the nurse was collecting, I was sure they would be my doom.
My mind shot into overdrive. If I drank the juice before I got the pills, then I could put the pills in my mouth and pretend to drink them down. Fake swallows would allow me time to press the pills up between my cheek and gums. In an instant of quick thinking, I gulped down the juice.
Holding the cup with my fingers wrapped around it, I hid the fact that it was now empty and waited for the pills.
Sister Francis turned to me with her eyebrows lifted and just stared. She watched me like she was waiting for me to say something or do something.
So I asked, "Are you going to give me the medicine now?"
She chuckled and looked at the nurse with an arrogant grin. As she turned back to me, her smirk pulled up higher on her cheeks. It stretched up beyond her eyes as her face trailed into a blur of colors. Her voice morphed into a slow, sickening sound as she spoke to me.
"Sure, ya just drank it."
Chapter 2
The echoing blast of a fog horn jolted me straight up in my bed. Blinking away the sleepy haze in my eyes, I wondered if the fog horn was a dream or if it was my own subconscious attempt at tearing me from my juice-induced stupor.
I glanced across the uniform rows of metal beds—girls still sleeping, unaffected by the reverberating sound of the sunrise horn that filled every space.
All the girls were sleeping, except one. Jayne.
She remained lying down, but her eyes locked onto mine, calculating our next moves through the space between us. The wheels of her mind displayed their complex turning through her piercing eyes and she latched onto me like we were the only two scheming people on the island. And she was probably right.
Her eyes moved to the window above my head and then back to me. I scrambled to my knees and looked out. With a quick nod, I confirmed her suspicion—the arrival of the Sunday morning ferry, the one that carried the priest to the island for distribution of holy communion.
My stomach turned at the thought of taking communion. Not because I had given up on the church long ago, but more so because of the arrogant stares and pompous chagrin that laced the gazes of the staff. They believed we were sinners whose penance was measured and cleansed each Sunday by this visit. My head shook in frustrated annoyance and Jayne grinned.
Her half-smile lit up her face and her natural beauty was impossible to miss—large blue eyes, jet black shining hair and full lips. And her striking beauty was the cause of her untimely downfall.
The attention Jayne received from the boys in her village was enough to raise suspicion among the locals that they may have a harlot in their midst. Ridiculous. But, more unfortunate, Jayne attracted the attention of grown men as well, some married, and the women of her town banded together. They forced her family to send her away for rehabilitation from being a whore…or becoming one, just to be safe.
At seventeen, Jayne had never even had her first kiss and now here she was, rotting away her youth for the sins of others. My fists clenched at the absurdity and I vowed to get her out of this prison and back into the real world where she belonged. A world where she could live free again.
I pulled my covers off and dropped my bare feet on the cold tile floor. Jayne's eyebrows lifted as she watched me. We weren't supposed to rise until given permission but any time my brain was thinking for itself, I took advantage of the opportunity.
I waved my hand for Jayne to follow me.
We tiptoed across the room, careful to not disturb the other girls. Some of them had been brainwashed far enough that they actually complied with the rules and ratted out any offenders. It was like they thought they belonged here and it was good for them. Like they believed Jayne and I were the trouble-makers because we thought for ourselves, when we could. And we got punished for it on a regular basis. It wasn't much different from school as I thought about the social order more—they were teacher's pets and we were their targets, the non-conforming rebels.
"What are we doing, Izzy? You're insane," Jayne whispered.
"It's a boat. We need to see if there's any way to sneak on and hide. They'll take us back to the mainland and we can run," I whispered back, reaching for her to come closer.
I turned the knob of our dormitory door and it clunked in its housing, causing us both to freeze. Scanning the sleeping girls for any alarm blowers—one shifted but then fell silent again—we turned back to the door. Jayne chewed on her lower lip as I turned the knob again and it popped open.
Standing motionless for a moment, we stared into each other's eyes in panic of rousing any of the girls, but then, certain they remained unaffected, we snuck out into the cold corridor. Creeping along the dim, antiseptic hallway, we moved toward the door that led out to the back of the institution.
"We're dead if they catch us." Jayne jabbed at my ribs. "I swear to God, I can't spend another day in solitary, praying for forgiveness. That huge crucifix creeps me the hell out."
"It's better than having to wash miles of sheets by hand. That's exquisite torture at its finest," I blasted back at her, as quietly as I could. “I never want to see another sheet as long as I live.”
She chuckled. "No shit. I swear they make us do that just to drive us crazy. I mean, who washes their sheets everyday? When I get out of here, I vow to wash my sheets like once a year!"
A laugh threatened to burst out of my mouth and I caught it in my nose, making it sound like a stifled sneeze. Both of us turned red with silent laughter that we struggled to suppress. Hands on knees, we gasped for air through our quaking shudders.
"Come on, harlot." I pulled on her. "Follow me." I pushed open the heavy door and fresh early morning air circulated around us.
She shoved me out the opening. "Who you callin' harlot, devil's bitch!"
I punched at her arm. "Someone forgot to say her rosary this morning," I murmured with a silent chuckle.
After propping the door open an inch with an oblong rock, I pointed in the direction of the boat, which was hidden from view just around the side of the home. Jayne hooked her arm around mine and we moved along the side of the building, hugging close to the wall for cover.
As we reached the front corner, we peered around it and caught a glimpse of a small group disembarking from the ferry. Three nuns in traditional dresses and full-coverage habits walked alongside the priest who stepped forward to greet the head of the facility, Sister Mary Carmel. Her pinched face and permanent scowl turned my blood cold and my flight response trembled, at the ready.
