When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (8 page)

As Devin headed out of the car park in the castle courtyard, she could see that villagers and tourists who had been milling around were speaking to one another in hushed whispers, gathering together for support as they watched the ambulance leave.

The pipes were silent.

A few of the vendors were already closing down.

Devin gave them no more mind, concentrating her attention on her driving.

She didn’t exactly know where they were going, and she didn’t think that Seamus was going to be much help with directions.

* * * *

The sheriff, a man named Bryan Murphy, arrived as the ambulance departed. Rocky was left with the cousins to tell him what had happened.

Murphy was a tall, broad-shouldered man, clean-shaven, and probably in his late fifties. He seemed a capable man, weary perhaps, but determined to learn what he could about what had happened.

“Brendan was fine,” Michael said solemnly. He and Aidan and Rocky stood with the sheriff in the great hall—right before the hearth, beneath the family crest and the weapons—and by the sword and dirk that still lay on the stone floor.

“My brother and I arrived at the village just about an hour or so ago,” he continued. “We checked some friends in down at another B and B, and brought our things up to our rooms in the central tower.”

“Brendan was fine, just fine—all jovial and happy that we were here,” Aidan said.

“Didn’t look sick in the least,” Michael agreed.

“He didn’t look sick at all,” Rocky offered. “He was fine this morning. When we found him, he looked terrified.”

“Can’t see how this happened,” Michael said, his expression definitely confused. “We were all coming out to the courtyard. Brendan was going to announce the dancers, in honor of St. Paddy and the church and all. He was right behind us—and we wandered on down and it wasn’t until we saw the Americans—my pardon,” he said quickly, looking at Rocky, “it wasn’t until we saw Devin and Rocky.” He seemed awkward all of a sudden. “Bryan Murphy, Craig or Rocky Rockwell,” he introduced. “Or did we do that. Forgive me. Brendan was…
is
a brilliant man.”

“Aye, and so soon after Collum,” Aidan said.

“Another heart attack?” Sheriff Murphy murmured.

“Not just a heart attack,” Rocky said flatly. “Who pulls weapons off a wall when they’re in the midst of a heart attack?” he asked. “Brendan was defending himself from some threat.”

Aidan and Michael looked at one another and Rocky could almost hear their thoughts.

Aye, the banshee!

Sheriff Murphy looked at Rocky. “I understand you’re some kind of FBI man in the States, Mr. Rockwell. You may think we’re quaint and outdated here, but our forensic work is done in Dublin County with some of the finest and most qualified doctors and technicians in the world. I know you feel that we’re lacking—after all, Brendan and Seamus called you and your wife over here. But, as you’ve all told me, Brendan was alone just a matter of minutes. Seamus, Kelly, Michael, and Aidan had just been with him. There was no threat. There’s been no break-in; no one in the courtyard saw any kind of a disturbance. Just as Collum Karney was alone in his room, Brendan was alone here. They were both big men, living hard. They believed themselves to be powerful, strong like the warrior lords of old who ruled here. If you can find anything suspect, I’d be more than grateful to hear about it.”

Rocky looked at Murphy. “Sheriff, I have no doubt that you’re extremely capable and I’m sure in many ways you and your people surpass our expertise. I can’t help but find it odd that one man dies of a heart attack and his brother is found unconscious and nearly dead barely two weeks later—surrounded by weapons as if he were defending himself.”

“You don’t know the village,” Aidan said softly.

“He means you don’t know how superstitious we are,” Michael told Rocky.

“You mean about the banshee wailing last night at midnight?” Sheriff Murphy asked. “Oh, indeed, I heard about it early this morning. The sound was heard clear down the slope. Yes, we are a superstitious people. Whether a legend is true or not is not really the point, though, is it?”

“You mean you think that both Collum and Brendan believed it—and had heart attacks?” Rocky asked.

“Possibly,” Sheriff Murphy said. “We’ll have to pray that Brendan comes out of this—and if he does, perhaps he’ll tell us just what he battled. As it stands now, I’ve nothing to investigate. There’s no sign of forced entry anywhere, there’s no witnesses—
there’s no harm can be seen that was done to either Collum or Brendan
.” He turned to Rocky again. “Young man, seems you’re a fine enough fellow yourself. If you find anything I can go on, I shall be delighted to throw myself and all my forces against it.” He turned to Michael. “What will we announce to the people? We have to get something out on the radio—Father Flannery must say something at mass. ’Tis a hard thing. The castle has always been the center of our celebration, and St. Patrick’s Day is a saint’s day and holy to us. Day after tomorrow. Do we allow our five days of festival to go on?”

Michael and Aidan looked at one another. It appeared, Rocky thought, that the brothers didn’t want the responsibility of making a decision.

“Would be Seamus needs to answer that question now, Sheriff,” Michael said.

“Seamus is at the hospital with his brother,” Sheriff Murphy said. “As is Kelly. This decision lies with the two of you.”

Rocky was startled when they turned to look at him.

“There’s tradition,” Michael said.

“And bad taste, too,” Aidan added.

“It was one thing with Collum dead and buried,” Michael said.

“But now Brendan! Aye, and both of them, fine men,” Aidan said.

“And traditionalists,” Michael said. “Rocky, what would you do?”

“I say carry on,” Rocky told them. “Brendan isn’t dead. Not that we know. And Brendan would want the celebration of the saint carried on.”

Michael nodded and turned to the sheriff. “We carry on,” he said.

“And you’re satisfied, Mr. Rockwell?” Sheriff Murphy asked.

“Until I have something to give you, sir, as you’ve said,” Rocky told him.

Michael walked with Murphy to the door. Aidan stood awkwardly by Rocky. He looked at him. “You think that something is going on here, don’t you? I suppose you think we’re all a bit daft, thinking that there be leprechauns and banshees and all. They’re just legends. Stories we’ve been told for years. Like Dracula and all that.” He grimaced. “Another great tale written by an Irishman,” he added sheepishly.

“I don’t think you’re daft at all,” Rocky said. Aidan apparently wasn’t aware that he belonged to—what even old friends in the agency referred to as—the ghost squad.

“But,” he added, smiling. “I’ve yet to find a ghost or supernatural creature who could commit murder—or even attempted murder. I think that something is going on. And I do intend to find out what it is. Aidan, if you or Michael need me, I’ll be up in the old master’s chambers.”

He left Michael and headed upstairs to the room he shared with Devin.

The room in which Collum—and many a Karney before him—had died.

Chapter 8

Devin spent a tense hour in the waiting room with Seamus and Kelly.

The three of them knew that they were hanging on by a thread and every second now mattered for Brendan Karney.

He teetered on the edge of death.

Devin didn’t tell Kelly that she’d believed that Brendan was dead when she’d seen him on his back in the great hall. She wanted to think that they might have saved him now. She knew the odds were against him.

For the hour, she sometimes paced. She sometimes hugged Kelly or Seamus. She sometimes watched them hug one another—wishing there was something that she could do.

And then, miraculously, after they waited that tense hour, a doctor came out to talk to them.

Brendan Karney wasn’t out of the woods.

But he was stable.

He was unconscious—yes, a coma. But, for now, that was best.

Seamus and Kelly asked if they could just sit with him. The doctor said that they could.

And so, after the waiting, Devin decided that she’d just give him a kiss on the forehead and then leave him to his brother and his niece and head back. When one of them wanted to come home, someone in the family would come for them.

She called Rocky and reported the situation. He told her how pleased he was that it seemed Brendan had a chance. He was, he told her, exploring the master’s chambers—and then he’d go beyond. She was to take her time and return to the castle when she was ready.

By the time she was nearly back—and in front of St. Patrick’s of the Village—she knew that she wanted to stop at the graveyard.

She parked just on the side of the church. The sun was waning and it would soon be dark, but there was still enough crimson and purple light for her to make her way through the tombstones and crosses, Victorian funerary art, mausoleums and sarcophagi to the Karney vault.

She was irritated that she’d forgotten to ask for a key and wondered what she’d accomplish by standing just outside the gate.

But even as she approached it, she heard something on the air. Something that made her stand still, the hair at her nape rising.

It was a cry, mournful and terrible. Soft—but something like that of a wolf that cried to the moon above.

It was…eerie.

And not like the sound she’d heard the night before.

She was frightened, yet she continued to the vault.

And she knew that the cry came from within.

She stood at the gates to the vault and forced herself to try to peer within. She gripped the iron bars to steady herself, but the gates pushed inward and she stumbled into the vault.

She felt it again.

The darkness. The strange darkness that was like raven’s wings, a shadow, yet there, palpable…

“Who is here?” she asked, hoping for her best special agent voice, praying that the fear that gripped her and the thunder of her heart couldn’t be sensed.

Perhaps it was the ghost of a Karney—long gone, or perhaps, more recently so
.

She was startled to hear a soft, female voice, rich with an old country brogue, beautiful and lilting.

“You see me?” came a whisper.

No, she didn’t see anything.

“Talk to me, please. You’re in distress. Tell me how I can help you,” Devin said.

And then she saw.

A woman emerged like a shadow from the far reaches of the vault. She walked toward Devin as if she did have flowing black wings that moved her.

When Devin could see her at last, she inhaled sharply; her breath caught.

The being before her was stunningly beautiful, tall and lean, and her hair was one with the black cape about her and the long black gown that fell to the floor. Her face was fine, like that of a porcelain doll. She was pale as the snow, with red lips and deep, dark, haunting eyes.

“Let me help you,” Devin whispered. “Who are you?”

“Deirdre,” the image said.

“What can I do?”

The woman lifted a hand, as if reaching out to her.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t understand. I have been with the Karney family through time and now…now, something is happening. I’m not scheduled to be here, and yet I am drawn again and again and…there is evil afoot, as it was in the time of Declan.”

“Declan? Declan Karney? His wife was murdered by Barry Martin and all died in the chamber that day.”

“Death—as it is not supposed to be!” Deirdre said.

“You’re…a family member?”

“Aye, in a sense.”

“You’re…”

“I come in darkness, but to bring those I embrace to sweet light. I am the gentle change from mortal coil to what lies beyond,” Deirdre said.

“You’re a—banshee?” Devin asked. Her knees were going to give. She grasped for the iron bars of the gate, definitely not wanting to fall.

Pathetic! She had known the dead before—why not a banshee?

The woman smiled slightly as Devin said the words. “I am Deirdre, called to help man, and my family is the Karney family. I am saddened, deeply saddened, lass, for ’tis not me making the horrible sound ye’ve heard with the wind at night. And I am called when ’tis not the proper time, and I know not what to do.”

“Collum Karney did not die a natural death,” Devin said flatly.

“He was not yet to be taken; still, I was summoned, and too late, for he floundered in fear and I wept for him, I tried to embrace him and ease away his anguish and…he is now at peace,” she ended. “Then yet again, I am swept from the wind and the sea to the castle…I was there, there with you today, for it seemed that Brendan would join his good brother.”

“But he’s alive; he’s stable,” Devin said.

“Still, I know the need to hover—to stay,” Deirdre said.

“He remains in danger—or others are in danger?” Devin asked.

“I don’t know; I greet the dead. What men do before they are called, I cannot see. Sometimes, we are called when a battle rages. We see the fight. But now…I don’t know what is going on.”

“Did Collum Karney tell you anything?”

“Only that the Devil sent Barry Martin back to finish off the Karney clan,” Deirdre said.

“Barry Martin! A ghost returned to slay Collum?” she asked.

“I know only what he said,” Deirdre told her. She lowered her head, a picture of strange beauty. “A fine man, and taken too soon.” She looked up. “Someone comes,” she said softly.

Devin turned quickly. Someone was coming. She heard hurried footsteps coming close to the vault and saw a figure in the long, dark robes of the Church.

Father Flannery.

He seemed to be frowning, worried.

Concerned that she was there?

She looked back; she could no longer see Deirdre. She wasn’t sure if she’d disappeared into the shadows, or if she was just—gone.

“Devin, lass, is that you?” Father Flannery called.

For a moment, Devin felt uneasy. She was halfway in the shadows.

In the vault
.

The way he was moving forward, he could push her, all the way in—to the back, the far reaches of the vault and whatever might lie in the shadows.