Magic and Alphas: A Paranormal Romance Collection, page 77
Lassi wrinkled her nose. “Potatoes and grubs?”
“Times were hard back then. We had the English to contend with.”
“Right, right. Eight hundred long years of oppression. My history teacher used to make us repeat the phrase before we could enter his classroom.” She hefted her Guinness, said, “To Irish persistence,” and took another swig.
Aengus nodded.
Liam stalked toward their table and placed Aengus’s pint on the table with a thwack. “Here you are, old man. Drink up.” He leaned his hip against the table, facing Lassi, then crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s not still nattering on about dusty old stories, is he?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself, since he’s right next to you?” she said.
“I can think of other things to talk about,” Liam said, adding a leer.
“Then find someone else to talk about other things,” Lassi said. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Liam!” Penny called.
His head pivoted. “What?”
“I could use some help.”
Liam pressed his lips together and strode away.
Aengus lifted the Guinness in his trembling hands and took a long swallow.
“So, Oonagh? Aarden? Potatoes and grubs?” Lassi prompted. Her stomach grumbled and growled. She turned toward the kitchen doors, hoping Penny would emerge carrying her food.
“Right.” Aengus set down his half-empty mug. “Their love was true and wonderful. They longed to escape and be together.”
Penny backed out of the kitchen bearing a food-filled platter. Silverware fell from the platter and clattered on the floor.
“Liam!” she called.
“What?” His voice sounded far away.
“Get some silverware so the girl can eat her supper.” She pivoted and marched toward Lassi, a frown on her face.
When she stood before the table, she said, “Here’s your food.”
She placed the white ceramic plate in front of Lassi.
Lassi’s tummy let out another growl as she eyed the burger which lay nestled between lettuce and a tomato slice. The chips were this side of burnt to a crisp.
Penny propped her hands on her plump hips. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Catsup would be nice. And a napkin.”
“Liam’s bringing utensils once he gets around to it.” Her head turned toward the kitchen. “Liam! The girl wants her silverware.”
“I’m coming,” he hollered.
“I asked for catsup.” Lassi pressed her lips together.
Penny fixed her attention on Aengus. “I hear you’re filling her head with tall tales. Ballynagaul is a tourist destination. We can’t have fright spread through the village. Besides that, you can’t go twisting fact with fiction. We all know you lost your first true love.” She cast a kind-eyed gaze his way.
Oh, so, he’s making up the tale. Lassi picked up her burger and took a bite. Mmm. Heaven.
“This has nothing to do with that.” Aengus fixed Penny with a glare. “So, the Strongbow story. Her cock-sucking father, Darragh O’Malley, made her marry a bastard. Now, Darragh had a problem with the drink, as well as a carpentry problem. It seems he couldn’t plane true unless he was half in his cups. He never forgave Oonagh for living when her mother died giving birth to her. He once told Oonagh he wished she had died and her mother had lived, or both of them had died so he could at least ‘start afresh.’”
“Gah! He sounds horrid.” Lassi stuffed another bite of the burger in her mouth.
“Right. He was. And he needed money, what with the drink and all that, so he married her off. The bastard ran her into the ground and murdered her. The girl was turned into the Dearg-Due.”
Lassi held off from taking another bite. The burger sat poised in her hands. “Wait. Dearg-Due? What’s that? And who are we talking about? You or someone long ago named Oonagh who loved Aarden?”
Penny gave a crisp shake of her head. “So, now you’ve named her Oonagh. Her name was Maggie. It was Maggie and Conor, a nothing kind of lad, who were in love. And she wasn’t murdered. She committed suicide. God rest her soul.” She crossed herself and looked toward heaven.
“It’s as good a name as any.” Aengus’s neck wattle shook as he spoke.
Liam pushed through the saloon doors. His foot landed on the fallen silverware and he slid forward, waving his arms. “Fecking shite. Pick up after yourself, woman!” He stalked toward the table, wielding silverware like a weapon and catsup like a trophy. “Here.”
He shoved them toward Lassi.
“Napkin?” Lassi smiled sweetly at him.
He glared at Penny and said, “Napkin for the lass? Are you hard of hearing?”
“I thought you’d bring one,” Penny countered. “Go on now and make yourself useful.” She shooed him away.
He turned and stormed off.
Lassi took another bite of the burger. As she chewed, she twisted the top of the catsup free, turned it upside down, and batted it with her palm. A few drops of catsup dripped on her chips.
The door to the pub opened, revealing a shaft of light surrounding a black clad figure.
“Looks like the rains are letting up,” Penny said with a nod. She squinted at the new customer. “Is that you, Father Ward?”
He stomped his feet on the door mat. “It is, Penny.”
He strode across the room, scattering droplets of water, as if he were a rain angel.
“Come on in and rest your bones.” She beckoned to Lassi’s booth. “Aengus here was starting to share the story of the Dearg-Due with poor Lassi here.”
Father Ward’s steps faltered. His shoulders bunched around his ears for a brief second, like he’d passed through an icy blast of wind.
Lassi frowned. What is it with this myth? She picked up the burger and crammed another big bite in her mouth.
“Look,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food. “I’m not the superstitious type. You don’t need to worry I’ll sleep with garlic or conjure fairies to protect me. I only thought to ask if the paper I found meant anything.”
“Paper? What paper?” Father Ward now stood stiffly next to the table.
“I found some old documents in the wall,” Lassi said. “Something about Strongbow.”
“Oh, boy,” Father Ward said. He pressed his palm to his cheek.
Lassi’s forehead drew together.
Penny eyed him. “You don’t look so good, Father. Let me get you some water.”
“Thank you, Penny, but I’m fine.” He nodded.
Penny said, “I insist, Father.”
She pivoted on her heel and tottered toward the bar.
His gaze slid toward Lassi. Again, a sorrowful expression flitted across his face. “How are you, Miss Finn?”
“Fine. What was the ‘oh, boy’ about?”
“Nothing.” His gaze darted about like a dragonfly.
She massaged her forehead with her fingertips. No one in this town makes sense. “Relax, Father, and sit.” She gestured across the table, then, plucked a few chips from the plate. After shoving them in her mouth, she said, “Ack. These are awful.”
She picked up her burger.
Father Ward turned his head toward Aengus. “Good afternoon, Aengus. How are you?”
“Fine. Sit.” He inclined his head toward the seat next to him.
Father Ward settled alongside Aengus. He leaned his forearms on the table, clasping his hands. “So, how are things coming with the cottage?”
“Since I saw you this morning?” Lassi said, her mouth full of meat. She held out her greasy fingers, looked for signs of Liam or Penny returning with napkins, then shrugged and wiped her fingers on her pants. “Still going. Still slower than I’d like. Who’s the Dearg-Due?”
Father Ward fixed his gaze on his hands.
Aengus took another slow swallow of Guinness. When he set down his mug, he side-eyed Father Ward. “Are you going to tell her, or should I?”
“I should be going,” Father Ward said. He started to get up.
Aengus’s hand shot toward Father Ward’s arm like a viper. “Wait. She needs to know.”
“Why? What? Would someone tell me?” She slapped the table with her palm.
What is it with these people? They’re all fecking nuts.
Father Ward jerked slightly, then let out a huge sigh. “It’s a vampire tale. The Dearg-Due is also known as the Red-Blood-Sucker. When she was murdered she vowed revenge. It’s the stuff of fairy tales.” He shrugged. “Now, I’d best be getting on my way.”
Aengus lowered his voice to his dramatic stage whisper. “You didn’t tell her about the grave.” He fixed his rheumy eyes on her. “It’s covered with stones. Legend has it that once a year, on the anniversary of her death, she pushes free and roams, killing innocent people to quench her thirst. Each year the stones get replaced. Then, we’re safe for another year.” He shook his head, making his neck wattle dance. “We’ve been fortunate here in Bally. Someone, or something, manages to keep us safe.”
Lassi laughed. “I think your tourism could improve tenfold if you used this tale as an attraction. There’s a tiny town in the United States called Forks. They draw teenage groupies who believe in sparkling vampires based on some book. Vampires. Honestly. Utter nonsense.” She lifted her eyes toward the kitchen. “What happened with my napkin and your water, Father?”
He rose to his feet. “I don’t know but I need to leave.”
“Me, too.” She stood, fished a few bills from her pocket, and dropped them on the table. “Do you have time to walk me home, Father?”
A warm smile crossed Father Ward’s lips. “I do, indeed.”
She nodded to him, then slid from the booth. “A pleasure meeting you, Aengus. Thanks for the story.”
“You’re very welcome, Lassi.” He grinned, picked up his pint, and said, “to Irish persistence.”
“To Irish persistence.” She turned toward Father Ward. “Shall we?”
“Please.” He followed her outside.
As soon as her foot landed on the sidewalk, Dylan, Siobhan, and little Paul Riordan emerged from the laundromat next door. They laughed as they scurried along the walkway, as if visiting the laundromat was a high point of their week. Siobhan carried a large sack, probably filled with clean clothes. Dylan clutched Paul to his shoulder, keeping him tucked inside his roomy overcoat, shielding him from the biting wind.
“Oh, Miss Finn,” Dylan said. “There you are.”
“Dylan. Here I am.” She stopped and smiled.
“Father Ward, how are you?” Siobhan said.
They exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather, how was she doing with the cottage and such, but Lassi paid little attention to the content of their conversation. The love the family shared could be cut with a knife and served for dessert. The couple stirred a wistfulness, full of longing, that tickled her ribs, like tiny love-mice searching for escape. Stop with the foolishness, Lassi. You’re only pleased to see such a nice family. They beat all the other sorry residents of this town. She lifted her face and scowled.
Father Ward studied her with a curious expression she couldn’t decipher. Whatever it was, it drew a shiver up her spine.
“Well, we’d best be getting on,” Dylan said. “We don’t want Paul, here, catching cold. Look at his cheeks. They’re like rosy apples.” He leaned down and kissed the child’s head.
They said their goodbyes and scurried in the opposite direction.
Lassi and Father Ward walked the sidewalk at a brisk pace.
The wind howled around them as they headed past the shops and banks toward the outskirts of town.
He fixed his attention on the distance, staying quiet.
Lassi kept her raincoat pulled around her.
Father Ward lowered his gaze.
The wind picked up speed, whistling around the buildings.
He kept his head down, leaning into the wind.
As they reached the end of town, a sudden downpour assaulted them with hail. Without thought, she reached for Father Ward’s hand and tugged him into a run along the narrow, hedge-lined road just past the church.
“Are you okay running?” she yelled through the wind. Do priests even stay in shape or is that an abomination? The hail pounded against her head.
“It’s fine,” he yelled back, keeping up a strong runner’s stride. “I know a shortcut. Turn up here.”
The hedge yielded to ancient rock walls. The rocks had tumbled, leaving an opening at one spot. Father Ward kept a tight grip of her hand as he guided her over the stones, into a muddy pasture.
“Let’s head for the copse of trees.” He pointed to a stand of trees about ten yards away. “We can get out of the hail until it subsides.” He released her hand, climbed through, and took off at a sprint.
She slogged next to him through the wet grass. Her Wellies made serious dents in the muddy ground. Finally, they reached where he’d indicated. Only drips and drabs fell through the lace of branches overhead.
“Whew! This is much better.” She bent forward and pressed her palms against her knees to catch her breath. When she stood up again, Father Ward’s serious gaze fixed on her.
His chest rose and fell in a regular cadence.
Her eyebrows arched high. “You must be in super shape. Not even winded?”
He shook his head.
“Do you work out?”
“Something like that,” he said, his face blank.
A long stretch of silence hung between them. All around came the sound of pounding rain and hail.
“So, this is summer in Ballynagaul, is it?” She stared at the driving rain.
“It seems to be.” Father Ward took a step toward her. His hand reached over her shoulder.
Is he going to pull me in for a kiss? Will I be able to resist?
He cleared his throat. “Over there.”
“Huh?” she came out of her lust-filled stupor and blinked at him.
“Roberta’s cottage. Turn around. You can see it from here.”
She pivoted, her cheek brushing against his fingers. “Where?”
He placed his palm on her shoulder and lifted his other arm next to her cheek, pointing down the hill. “Down there. See it?”
His heat warmed her cold back. She closed her eyes, savoring his nearness. This can’t be right, standing here with the local priest. I’m laying the groundwork for Satan.
Again, he cleared his throat. “Can you see it, Miss Finn? Are you still with me?”
Oh, I’m with you, Father. She swallowed before opening her eyes. “The cottage. Down the hill. Got it in my sights, locked and loaded.”
He stepped away from her.
Instantly, she missed his nearness.
“I’d best be off,” he said.
Her head whipped around. “You’re not coming with me?”
He took another step backward. “Baptism, remember?”
“Right. Well, then.” She lifted her chin to meet his soft gaze.
He shook his head, ever so subtly, as if making some sort of decision within himself. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Finn.”
“You will, Father Ward. That’s a promise.” For a moment, she swore a current of energy passed between them, sharp and electric.
His shoulders fell as if weighted by a heavy burden. Without speaking, he turned and strode away, breaking the spell, or casting the spell, she couldn’t tell which one. But no spell, good, bad, or otherwise, would keep her from getting back to Dublin as soon as she could.
A niggling little thought, far back in her mind, whispered she might be wrong—dead wrong—sending shivers up and down her spine—shivers that seemed to occur regularly, whenever she was near Father Ward.
Chapter Four
The next morning, after another shitty, restless night, Lassi awoke to rain battering the window, like a full-on machine gun assault.
“Christ on a cracker,” she muttered. “Does this place ever dry out?” Still dressed in yesterday’s jersey and panties, she threw back the covers, desperate for some tea. Her breath emerged in clouds of white while her skin peppered with gooseflesh. “Let me guess.” She rolled from the bed and scurried toward the wall light switch. Nothing happened when she flicked it. “Wonderful. No power. And no power means no tea. And no tea means I’m pissed and off to another fecking day in Bally-kiss-my-ass.”
Shivering, she felt around for yesterday’s jeans and socks from the floor, hoping not to be surprised by more dead cats. When she only found fabric, she sighed, lifted her Levi’s, and tugged them on. Then, she searched for her wooly jumper and pulled it over her head. Lastly, she grabbed the faded blue chenille bedspread and wrapped it tight around her.
The rooms of the house were dark from lack of lighting and outside gloom. She stumbled her way into the shadowy kitchen, kicking crap out of the way as she went, and retrieved the candle and matches she’d left on the table. After lighting the candle, she sauntered into the front room.
“Feel like pulling wallpaper in the dark, Lassi Finn? No? I didn’t think so.” That settled, she curled up on the lumpy couch next to the box of papers.
She moved the candle to her left hand and peered into the box. At the bottom, it looked like one of the pieces of parchment had affixed itself to the wood. Gently, she picked at it with her short fingernails, prying it free. She managed to unfold it without tearing it— much. After spreading it on her lap in a one-handed maneuver, she lowered the candle close enough to study it.
“Hmm. Looks like a map to me.” Unable to make anything discernible out, she twisted it back and forth. Then, she lifted it directly in front of her face.
Her heart drummed with excitement as she read, Strongbow’s grave. Final resting place of Maggie Strongbow.
“It’s right down the way, like Aengus mentioned. Cool. This calls for an outdoor adventure.” She glanced out the window.
Trees bent and swayed in the howling wind. Rain pattered against the window pane.
“But later.” She placed the map in the box, blew out the candle, and tugged the bedspread around her. I hate this fecking place. She lay her head on the hard arm of the sofa, wishing she were back in Dublin. Her eyes fell shut. There are babies to be birthed. Moms to be consoled. Pubs to visit which don’t look like the kind of places zombies frequent. Fun to be had.
