When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella Read online

  She walked out to the great walls and saw that a large group was gathered around the fire pit.

  Gravitating in that direction, she saw that Gary the Ghost was giving a night tour.

  That night, he was talking about St. Patrick. She heard his rich voice as he dramatically spoke to the crowd.

  “Our patron saint was a slave. Aye, not born on Irish land a’tall, but a slave brought here. Irish pirates kidnapped the lad when he was about sixteen and brought him to these shores. That was, say, right around the year 432 A.D. He worked the land—on cliffs such as these. Close your eyes and imagine if you will.

  Shaggy cows and bleating sheep munching upon rich grasses on the slopes of Slemish mountain. It was there they said that he came, the slave who would become known as Ireland’s greatest saint came—to find sustenance. Even as a lad and a young man, aye, he came to the cliffs and the rugged sea, finding peace and richness in the elements and the strength and will to survive. After six years, he escaped and returned to Great Britain. But voices urged him back to Ireland as a missionary; he brought the word of God and forever changed the face of this land, for few came to embrace the Mother Church as Eire. Patrick refused to take bribes from kings; he went on trial for refusing to bow before those on earth. But he prevailed. Some say he rid Ireland of snakes—some say, I will admit, that Ireland never had snakes!”

  Those words drew laughter from the crowd.

  “Ah, but we’re full of legend, right? St. Patrick did live and die, though we don’t know the exact dates. They don’t matter. He was a man who defied power and his own fear to create a better place, and we honor him every year with his feast day, March 17th. Here, we’ve but two days to go. At Karney, we’re a bit different; two days before his feast day, the day of—and two days after. We remember him as the Irish we have become, with love, with dance, with music. This year, the night of his feast day, even the heavens will honor him. They’re predicting a solar eclipse! If you’re staying, you’ll have a fantastic sight as the moon rises and the night comes.”

  Applause welcomed his words.

  Devin smiled and walked on, heading around the cliffs.

  She could still hear Gary, telling more tales. She could turn back and see the fire blazing at the pit.

  There were people there, everywhere, coming and going from the castle walls.

  But as she headed up to the peak by the walls, where the cliffs held high over the sea and the wind blew beneath that light of the moon, she felt that she was alone.

  And she felt that she needed to be alone.

  She looked out to the water. The wind moved around her. It wasn’t a storm wind, she thought, but the wind that always blew here, stronger than most, flattening the long grasses that grew along the cliff top and creating mounds of whitecaps out on the Irish Sea. Far westward was Scotland, to the south, the civilization of Dublin and the charm of Temple Bar, the history of the great living city, and a day-to-day lifestyle as busy as that of any major metropolis.

  But here, here at Castle Karney, it was different.

  They were caught in a pure taste of the past, of a different, medieval time, when stone was the true king, defending the inhabitants from the rams and arrows of all who came to assault the fortress.

  Castle Karney had never been taken.

  Not by the enemies who had come to seize her.

  She could only fall from within.

  By belief in an ancient evil.

  That belief played upon by evil indeed—the evil of a man or woman with an agenda of their own.

  Devin stood very still. The sounds of Gary’s tales and the music from the castle walls seemed distant. She felt as if she were removed from the real world—as she needed to be.

  She waited. And then she turned.

  She knew that Deirdre would be there.

  And she was. She stood a short distance away, her black hair flowing long and free with the sea-swept wind, her long gown cascading around her in that wind as well. She looked both sad and proud; she waited patiently, as if she’d known Devin was contemplating on the beauty, the sadness, and the history of Karney.

  While knowing that she would come.

  “I feel it,” Deirdre said. “And it’s wrong. You must stop it.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “The sound that comes at night; the wail. It is not me.” For a moment, Deirdre wore an expression that Devin might have seen on any perplexed young woman.

  “How they believe that to be a banshee’s cry, I know not!” Deirdre said.

  “We will find the cause of the cry,” Devin said.

  “And hurry!” Deirdre urged her.

  “Of course,” Devin said.

  “No, you must really be quick. There’s but two days before St. Patrick’s feast. And that’s when the moon will be black by night.”

  As Devin watched, Deirdre seemed to disappear, becoming one with the night and the wind.

  And she realized what her words meant. They were part of the prophecy.

  Devin whispered aloud.

  “Castle Karney in Karney hands shall lie, ’til the moon goes dark by night and the banshee wails her last lament.”

  Chapter 10

  Devin hurried back to the castle.

  This time, she found Rocky in the master’s chamber. She stared at him as she entered, completely taken by surprise. Rocky was in the big claw-foot tub.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised; it was supposed to be their honeymoon and he did love the tub.

  But…

  “Hey!” she said.

  “Hey,” he told her. He gave her a come-hither grin. “Join me.”

  She just stared at him for a moment. Normally, the invitation would start something unbelievably sweet and sensual rising within her.

  And not that it didn’t…

  Soap suds sluiced down the bronzed expanse of his chest. His hair was damp. He looked ruggedly handsome.

  And clean, of course.

  “Rocky, Brendan was nearly murdered today.”

  “Yes. And I believe I’m on my way to solving the problem.”

  “What?”

  “I took a little excursion on my own.”

  “Oh?”

  “This place is incredibly historic, you know. They still have original torture implements down in the dungeon. Apparently, the inhabitants of Karney were not known for being blood thirsty, and they did make many compromises—claiming to be for the Church of England when necessary. But, they were also careful—watching out for spies among their own after the Battle of the Boyne!”

  Devin shook her head. “Rocky, I love you so much. And I’m into history, too. But—”

  He held the edge of the tub, turning to look at her very seriously. “Devin, you know that I believe that someone is doing this through machinery. And now I’m even more convinced that I’m right. I saw Siobhan tonight. She kept looking at the door in the old chapel that’s now part of the pub. It leads to the crypts—and there’s a door that leads downward from the great hall—closed and ‘locked’ with one of those velvet ropes over it. There’s also a dumbwaiter in the dressing room next to us. Someone could have easily come here—brought something up here—the night that Collum died. I managed to crawl into the dumbwaiter—or whatever the medieval lords would have called it—down to the great hall. From there, I slipped past the velvet rope and the supposedly locked door down a flight of stone stairs to the crypt—torture chamber first, crypt when you head to the south away from the great hall and beneath the pub. There’s dust in most of it—and areas swept clean. A bunch of dirt and spider webs, too, thus the bath,” he added dryly. “I’ve also been in touch with Jackson Crow back in the main office; they’re going to do searches on Michael and Aidan and find out if they might have slipped over here for a few hours on the night Collum died.”

  Devin stared at him for a moment in wonder and smiled slowly. She dropped her bag on the floor and quickly doffed her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and drew he
r sweater over her head.

  Rocky looked at her with questioning brows arched high.

  “You’re so good,” she told him.

  “Ah, lass!” he said, nicely mimicking the accent they’d been hearing since their arrival. “Ya’ have some faith in me, y’do!”

  She stripped down all the way and crawled into the tub with him. It was a big tub, though still a little awkward. She managed, however, to finagle herself around so that she lay halfway atop him and could set her hands on his shoulders and meet his eyes before she kissed him, a kiss as long and wet and steamy as the water around them.

  “You do have faith,” he whispered, his eyes bright as they met hers after.

  “Indeed,” she said, laughing herself. She lay nearly atop him and clearly felt the rise of his erection against her thighs.

  He drew her closer, pressing the length of their bodies tight.

  “Faith well-warranted!” he vowed.

  It was tricky—not an easy accomplishment, but they laughed as she maneuvered herself to completely straddle him, and there, in the great old tub, in the midst of soap bubbles, steam, and the delicious wetness, they made love.

  Devin collapsed against him and he held her tight, then after a moment said, “My lord, I would suffer any torture for a repeat, but my knees are all but broken!”

  She laughed and finagled her length off of him and out of the tub, grinning as her push against him pressed his knees harder against the tub.

  “Sorry! So sorry!” she said.

  “Ach! I’ll show you sorry!” he promised.

  In a minute, he was up and out, too. She shrieked softly as he reached for her, still soaking wet. She made a beeline for the bed where he met her, and they crashed atop, surrounded by covers and pillows and the down comforter. There it was easy to make love again, kissing the dampness from one another’s bodies, sleek and slippery and still burning with the heat both of the water and that which came from within.

  Finally, they lay spent and exhausted in one another’s arms, entangled in the sheets and the bedding.

  After a while, Rocky said, “I wonder if there are ghosts that haunt these chambers; so many have died here. It would be natural.”

  “I actually don’t believe there are any,” Devin said.

  “Oh? Why?” he asked, coming upon an elbow to stare at her.

  “The banshee sees that they are able to move on.”

  “The banshee?”

  “I met her this evening.”

  “What?” He nearly pounced upon her, rising above her, arms on either side of her shoulders as he stared down at her intently.

  Devin smiled and said softly. “I met the banshee. She’s the shadow that we see and feel. Very lovely, really. Her name is Deirdre. But, she’s very upset. She’s insulted for one—banshees do not sound like that awful noise we heard!”

  Rocky moved, sitting up, looking around the room. “Is she—here?”

  “No. She would never intrude. She’s gracious and polite. Honestly! Do you think that I would have jumped into the tub as I did if she were?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Rocky murmured. “Can I meet her?”

  “I suppose—but she’s not different from the ghosts or spirits we’ve encountered before. I don’t have a cell number for her!” Devin said.

  He gave her an impatient glance. “Has she seen anything? Does she know anything?”

  Devin nodded gravely. “She was able to get a bit from Collum, but only a bit. She was late on the scene; he wasn’t supposed to die. He said something to her about Sir Barry Martin—he who murdered Brianna and died with Declan Karney—coming back for him as a devil or demon from hell. Rocky, someone has to be doing this—but who?”

  “When we find out exactly what’s going on,” Rocky said, “we’ll know who is doing it!”

  Devin started suddenly, aware that the ringer on her phone was going off in the jeans she had shed so quickly.

  She leapt out of bed and hurried back to the tub area, grabbing up her jeans and finding her phone.

  “Hello?” she said quickly.

  “Devin?”

  “Yes. Kelly?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh, no. Has something happened? Brendan is…”

  “Holding his own; still unconscious. But,” Kelly said quickly, “Devin, I’m scared. My dad went down for some coffee and I was alone here. I think someone was in the hall—someone watching me. It didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it. But—I’m afraid. My dad came back. But, I’m just out in the hall now. I don’t want to leave him alone here. Even for a minute.”

  “I’ll come right back, Kelly,” Devin promised.

  Rocky was already up and dressing; he’d heard her conversation.

  “We can’t both leave the castle,” she said. “Michael and Aidan are here. And they may be guilty or—they may be vulnerable as victims.”

  He shook his head. “We won’t both leave. I’m walking you down to the car; you’ll go and stay with Kelly and Seamus until morning. I’ll have you spelled then. I’ll keep guard here.”

  “How will you have me spelled?”

  “I believe that Will Chan and Kat Sokolov will arrive in Dublin early in the morning. They’ll have been on a night owl flight.”

  Devin nodded slowly. “All right. That seems best. What about the sheriff? Don’t you trust him?”

  “I trust us,” he said simply.

  A few moments later, she was in the car.

  By then, the courtyard was quiet; the vendor’s stalls were covered for the night.

  The music had gone silent.

  The moon rose high over the night.

  “Rocky!” Devin said.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s going to be an eclipse. A solar eclipse of the moon. On St. Patrick’s Day night, it will be dark!”

  “And?” he asked.

  “The prophecy!” she said. “Remember? ‘Castle Karney in Karney hands shall lie, ’til the moon goes dark by night and the banshee wails her last lament.’”

  His lip went grim and tight for a moment. “So that’s it, then,” he said softly. “Someone is playing not just on the banshee legend, but on history and the prophecy as well. All right. The moon may go dark—but we’ll see to it that the banshee has no cause to wail at all.”

  Chapter 11

  The night was quiet.

  Rocky sat up in one of the great chairs by the hearth, allowing himself to doze now and then.

  He was armed.

  He’d chosen a small knife from the weapons above the hearth in the great hall. It was unfortunate that they had come as tourists—without their weapons.

  But this killer wasn’t walking around with a gun. A gun would be too obvious. This killer was trying to murder his victims in ways that made it appear that natural causes or fear itself had done them in.

  So far, the killer had attempted to kill older men who had lived their lives steeped in legend.

  They hadn’t gone after an able-bodied American trained in arms and self-defense.

  He jarred upright to the least crackle of the fire. He slipped out to the hall now and then, and even back downstairs. He checked to see that the pub was locked up tight for the night.

  There was no movement. The castle guests were in their own wing, most probably sleeping.

  As were Aidan and Michael. Rocky would have heard them had they left their rooms.

  He checked in with Devin at the hospital every so often.

  She was fine. Brendan was fine.

  At seven a.m., he received the call he expected; Will Chan and Kat Sokolov had arrived. They had landed in Dublin; they would be there within a few hours.

  Rocky was grateful that they were on their way. Kat was a tiny, very pretty blonde—the last person one would expect to be an excellent medical examiner. Will Chan was intriguing—his background was Trinidadian and Chinese and a mix of American-Northern European. He’d been in magic, in theater, in
film—and computers. If anyone could figure out a computer or machine engineered haunting, it was Will.

  Together, they were a handsome, engaging—and deadly competent couple.

  Rocky was cheerful as he rose and headed down to the pub.

  Michael and Aidan were there and hailed him when he came in, urging him to join them.

  “Where is the missus?” Aidan asked him.

  “She spent the night at the hospital with Kelly,” Rocky explained.

  “Ah, of course,” Michael said. “He’s doing well? Brendan is doing well?”

  “Stable and holding,” Rocky assured them. “How about you two? You sleep well? Any interruptions?”

  “The banshee?” Michael asked solemnly.

  “Don’t make him think we’re daft,” Aidan said. “No, but, I admit—I didn’t sleep well. It’s unnerving. First Collum. Then, Brendan. And that wailing people talked about. I slept with my door bolted, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I considered going back to Dublin,” Michael admitted.

  “You can’t. We’re always here for St. Paddy’s Day,” Aidan said.

  “Aye, but, people aren’t usually dropping like flies around the feast day,” Michael said. He looked hard at Rocky. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “I think that something is going on. And I will find out what,” Rocky said.

  “We’re all right—we’re all right as long as Seamus and Kelly are all right,” Aidan said.

  “And you think something is going to happen to Seamus next?” his brother asked, appalled.

  “They’re next,” Aidan said softly.

  “Have you been back up here lately—as in around when Collum died?” Rocky asked.

  “Aye—we came for the funeral,” Michael said sadly. “Collum’s funeral.”

  The two sounded sincere.

  But, it was difficult to be sure.

  “I meant before that,” Rocky said.

  “Are you suggesting something?” Aidan demanded.

  Rocky shook his head. “No. I’m wondering if you saw or heard anything peculiar.”

  “I hadn’t been here in months,” Michael said.

  “Nor I,” Aidan said flatly.