Once inside, I found myself transported by the trendy, yet old-school vibe of the exposed brick walls. Oversized pendant lamps with Edison style bulbs offered a cozy warmth to the lofty, open space. I drew a deep breath, appreciating the richness of the earthy bouquet floating around me. Coffee was one of my favorite smells. Long before I learned to appreciate the taste, I loved the smell of it brewing. Grams used to let me sip from her mug when Mom wasn’t looking. By the time I was a teenager, coffee was my beverage of choice. Grams would have loved this place.
A bar lined with industrial styled barstools nearly spanned the length of the open floorplan starting about fifteen feet from the front of the building—where comfy chairs and couches were scattered—and ending about eight feet from the back where a few intimate tables could be found. The bar created a barrier around a set of stairs that led to another floor. Judging from the outside of the building, and the height of the vaulted ceilings, there were three floors to The Black Cat Café. Naturally, I wondered what might be found at the top of that stairwell.
There was no one behind the bar, so I meandered around the café’s interior perimeter, taking in the artfully lit photographs flanking the walls. Each one nearly disappeared into the black-painted ceiling, giving the illusion they were larger than they actually were. Still, the photographs alone were easily three feet in height. Breathtaking panoramas of snow-covered mountaintops, sunset over a vineyard in Italy, and The Great Wall of China lined the wall opposite the bar.
I stopped several paces before reaching the table with the Witches, but my gaze continued to follow a sequence of photographs that transitioned from raging rivers caught in mid-splash to a brilliantly colored flock of macaws in the Peruvian rainforest and ending just short of the bar with a silhouetted photo of a surfer standing against a glorious sunset on a tropical beach. The photo held my attention until a deep voice broke the silence and resonated through me. Something about it caused my very soul to tremble and sent a shiver across my skin. I didn’t like it.
“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” he said from only a few feet away.
I turned slowly. The unexpected tremble had left me feeling a bit cautious. What I found was not at all what I expected—not that I knew what to expect. However, I had certainly not expected to see dark hair just long enough to sweep carelessly over a pair of ocean blue eyes with eyelashes any woman would kill to have.
My gaze instinctually gravitated down to his broad shoulders and chest. Yup. That was definitely a Hemsworth in a Marvel movie physique beneath his fitted gray Henley. Almost as soon as my eyes had deviated, I snapped my stare back to his face only to find the corner of his lips had risen slightly in a smug grin. I quickly diverted my attention to his right eye, searching for definitive proof that I was face to face with Libby’s Super Attractive Guy. Only, his sweeping hair was sweeping just a little too low for me to be certain.
“Can I get ya somethin’, miss?” he asked with a smirk. His slight Irish inflection caught me off guard.
I tried to pull in a deep breath as slowly as I could manage without it becoming obvious I was attempting to settle my nerves. Super Attractive Guy—if he was, in fact, the same Super Attractive Guy Libby had encountered—had me on edge, for a variety of reasons. One being that this man was Irish, and Libby had said my clandestine visitor had definitely not been Irish. Without the proof of his jagged scar, I was staring at one crazy ridiculous coincidence. The second reason being that this man, Super Attractive Guy 2.0, had a strange effect on me, and I was not a fan. No one had ever been able to shake me to my core, but there I was . . . shaken, and feeling the effects every time he uttered a sentence.
“Umm . . . yeah. Sorry. Ya just remind me of someone,” I said, trying to play off my inability to interact normally.
He snickered. “Well, I hope that someone isn’t on your cac list.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his use of Kara’s favorite Irish term. It made me think of the first time I’d used cac in front of her and had to explain it. She proceeded to substitute it in every saying she could think of—no cac, you’ve got to be cac’in me, cac happens, and my personal favorite . . . cac just got real.
“I’m still decidin’,” I said.
“Fair enough. So, since you’re new to town, would ya like t’ see a menu? Maybe have a seat while you’re here?” he tacked on with a hint of sarcasm and nodded to the barstool directly in front of his post behind the bar.
I stepped over to one of the high back bar stools and settled in. “What makes ya so sure I’m new?” I challenged.
Another snicker was followed by, “We’re not exactly in a metropolis, ya know. If new people are comin’ in t’ town, everybody knows about it.”
“Aye, that’s fair.”
“Besides, you’d be hard to miss,” he added, and our eyes locked for a rather intense moment.
All at once I couldn’t swallow, and I had to force myself to take a breath. I fought the flush that threatened my cheeks, and when the tension grew too thick, I changed the subject.
“So, about that menu?” I asked.
That was something new for me—not knowing how to respond.
“Sure thing,” he said, and within seconds he was sliding one across the bar.
“Also, I was told to ask for Cian and some kind of Columbian Special.” I tried to make small talk, hoping to both settle the uneasiness prickling around inside me and learn something that might help me understand why I wasn’t getting a solid read on this guy.
One of the powers Grams had taught me to keep to myself—at all costs—was my ability to look into someone’s soul and see them for who they truly are. If a person’s intentions are pure, there is a lightness within them. Even if they don’t always do the right thing, even if they screw up royally, at their core they still had noble intentions. Those with dark souls never had virtuous objectives. More often than not, that distinction is not obvious from the outside looking on. The dark souls are the ones who would blow sunshine and roses your way all while their ultimate goal was to stab you in the back when the opportunity arose and take whatever it was they wanted. Then there’s what I have come to call gray souls; they teeter on the fence depending on the situations they are facing and the influences in their lives. I’ve seen some slip into the darkness and others embrace their light. Grams encouraged me to make a conscious effort to surround myself with light bearers and to never take my ability for granted so that I wouldn’t be susceptible to the darkness, because none were impervious to the sway of darkness.
She had once said, “We all have cracks in our armor, my dear. You’d rather light spill out through the cracks, than darkness to slither in. Stay vigilant, my girl.”
Grams and Mom also had the ability to look into the souls of others. It passed through the women of our bloodline. It’s a gift that had served me well through the years. Especially in my line of chosen occupation. It’s always helpful to be privy to who the bad guys really are.
But this guy . . . this guy was an enigma. I could not see this man’s true intentions at a soul level. It was as though he had a wall constructed around the essence of his soul, and that disturbed me. I also wasn’t able to identify his race. I knew without a doubt he was a Supernatural, but everything I would normally glean from someone new, to understand what I was up against, he had somehow shrouded.
“Ahh, you’ve been talkin’ t’ Nira. She must’ve liked ya. She doesn’t tell just anyone about the Columbian Special.”
I picked up the menu as I kept the conversation going. “Oh? And why might that be?”
“Because then it wouldn’t be so special, now, would it?” he winked at me and flashed a crooked, heart stopping smile.
I looked away, but I could feel his stare on me, boring into me in a way I’d never felt before. I zeroed in on the daily soup specials the menu had to offer as a distraction. And for a moment, I had to stop and think about what day it was. Get it together, Aish. Don’t
let your guard down, I reminded myself.
“So, the chicken and gnocchi,” I started without taking my eyes off the menu. “Can ya add some red pepper flakes t’ that?”
A snicker slipped from his throat and I looked up. I shouldn’t have, but it was instinctual.
“What? Why’s that funny? Are red pepper flakes frowned upon in Pyreshore?” I asked.
An appreciative chuckle was followed by, “No. No. Not frowned upon at all, well, unless you’re Old Man Staverton. But he orders everything completely flavorless. I’m quite sure he eats cardboard for breakfast, so I’m not going to count his opinion. It’s just, that’s how I like it too—with red pepper. I prefer everything with a bit o’ spiciness.”
I tried to stifle my amusement, but I failed.
“Ahh. She laughs. Progress, ladies and gents. I was beginning t’ wonder if ya might be one of those hard-nosed, all-business, no-fun types. Glad t’ see ya aren’t.”
Okay, sue me. He was charming, attractive, and had a personality. Trifecta. There’s only so much disinterest a girl can feign regardless of soul color. Besides, not knowing which side of the fence Super Attractive Guy 2.0 might be on meant I had to play this down the middle to be safe.
“Aye. I can laugh with the best of ‘em,” I assured him, trying to be friendly but not too friendly. “So, it seems I’m not going t’ get that Columbian Special with my soup tonight. Do ya know when Cian might be working over the next few days? Nira really got my hopes up.”
He chuckled again.
“Well, now what’s so funny?” I slid the menu back across the bar.
He took a step toward me, with what I thought to be the intentions of taking the menu. Instead, he reached his hand across the bar. “Cian McCallister. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss—” he ended the sentence like it was a question and offered a smirk that twisted to one side.
“Hmmph,” I responded, hesitating before extending my arm. “Aisling O’Cléirigh,” I replied only a moment before I slipped my hand into his and things got exceedingly interesting.
A jolt of magic surged through me. Fae magic. Every cell in my body tingled with energy. His eyes caught mine and held them, and my pulse quickened. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, but they were the longest seconds of my existence. When the energy dissipated, I was left staring into a pair of bewildered ocean blue eyes and holding onto the hand of the most mystifying man I had ever had the pleasure of encountering. Or maybe it would prove to be the displeasure of encountering. Time would tell.
“Umm . . . pleased t’ meet you,” I crooked my head and uttered slowly, assessing him further. And though something within me rebelled against the action, I slid my hand from his, breaking the connection.
He maintained his fixed stare.
I studied his face—the tension in his jawline, the furrow of his brows, the confusion in the squint of his eyes.
He regarded me with a strange expression, and then mumbled, “Y-you’re Aisling O’Cléirigh?”
I settled against the back of the barstool and attempted to steady my breathing. “I . . . I am.” I tried to mask my own uncertainty surrounding the situation.
He raked a hand through his untamed dark hair and leaned back against the wall behind him. That’s when I saw it—the jagged scar just to the side of his right eye.
Super Attractive Guy—the original. The one and only, it would seem.
Question now was, if this was Super Attractive Guy, and he had been at my flat two days before, how did he not know who I was already? He was genuinely surprised to hear the name Aisling O’Cléirigh spill from my lips. And while I have seen some decent acting in my line of work, I’ve seen nothing as Oscar worthy as what he had just delivered, if he was, in fact, acting.
He continued to stare at me as though he’d seen a ghost—assuming ghosts actually existed, that is.
“Well, if you are here, then—” his voice trailed off and his expression shifted from surprised to contemplative.
“I feel as though I’m at a disadvantage here,” I stated calmly. False calm, but still. “It seems ya know me, but I’m not sure how that might be, and all I know of you is that ya make the best coffee in town.” I knew a bit more, but he didn’t need to know the extent of Libby’s observational skills.
He glanced around the café and, without warning, announced, “Café is closing, ladies and gentlemen. No need t’ settle up, ‘tis on the house. Please come again.” Then his intense stare refocused on me. “We need to talk.”
Six
Cian McCallister locked the doors behind the Witches as they left. The Mimic had apparently slipped out while we were talking earlier. Once he verified the café was secure and we were alone he returned to the bar.
“You’re going t’ need that Columbian Special. I’ll make it a double,” he added.
“Considering I don’t even know what you’re makin’ for me, I s’pose I’ll have t’ take your word on that.”
“Trust me, you’re gonna want the double. Hell, I’ll just keep the Jameson out. Ya might need it straight.”
His tone made me question the direction this night was heading.
“Well, I haven’t eaten since lunch, so if you’re going t’ start getting me liquored up, I’m going t’ need that soup and probably some bread.”
A smile played across his lips. I both hated and loved the way it made his eyes crinkle, and the way his peppered stubble accentuated the dimples I had just noticed for the first time. Libby had been spot on with her physical assessment of Cian McCallister. He was definitely super attractive.
Not being able to read him was driving me a little insane, though. I had so many questions: Why had he been at my flat? Why had he disguised his accent? And how had he gotten back to Pyreshore and settled in so quickly?
I’d never before had to concern myself so much with trying to decide if someone was more likely to be friend or enemy. Up until that moment in time, the inconsistent nature of gray souls had been the greatest challenge I’d had to overcome when determining on which side of the line someone stood.
Free will can be an unpredictable opponent. Life is a continual tradeoff between employing choices we have made, choices that have served us well, and exploring new opportunities that may serve us better. For that reason alone, gray souls could be tricky to make sense of. But at least I had the luxury of a starting point with them. For all I knew, Cian McCallister could have the darkest soul I’ve ever encountered. And there I was, locked in a building with him . . . alone.
I watched as he filled a French coffee press with fresh grounds then poured a dark liquid from an electric kettle over them.
“I’ll let that steep while I get ya something t’ eat,” he said before he disappeared up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I pulled out my phone, contemplating a call to Uncle Lachlan to see what insight or information he might be able to offer me on the mysterious Cian McCallister, but it wasn’t a chance I wanted to take. If Cian wasn’t a light bearing soul, I did not need to tip him off that I was already questioning his character. I knew he was powerful. There was no other conclusion considering he had the ability to block me out and completely mask his supernatural origins. Even after the rush of Fae magic that flashed through me, I couldn’t say with complete certainty that he was Fae. There had been powerful Witches with the ability to mirror Fae magic in small doses. And considering the intensity and potency of what I felt when our hands touched, I would say that no matter which race Cian McCallister hailed from, he was indeed among the most powerful.
Just as I was about to return my phone to the back pocket of my jeans, the text notification dinged. I swiped the screen. Kara. Bollocks.
She was not going to be happy with me for skipping out on our few planned days of hanging out. I knew she’d understand once I explained, but I’d hear about it first.
Kara: “I found the best margaritas in New York tonight! You are gonna love
them!”
Me: “Don’t hate me, but I’m not going to be there tomorrow. Something came up.”
Kara: “Umm . . . I’m gonna need some details and I’m gonna need them 2 hours ago for a bombshell like that.”
Me: “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now. I PROMISE I’ll fill you in ASAP.”
Kara: “Dang right you will. This better be good if I’m missing out on sushi, the hot Italian waiter, and now margaritas!”
Me: “It is. Or bad. Jury’s still out.”
Kara: “I do NOT like the sound of this Aisling O’Cléirigh!”
Me: “Actually, you can help me out. Find out everything you can on a guy named Cian McCallister. I don’t know his race. About 6’3”. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Probably between 28 and 31 years old.”
Kara: “You don’t know his race? Have you not met him?”
Me: “Long story. I’ll call you in the morning and give you all the details. I have to go now. OUT.”
Kara: “I’ll get what I can. Call me if you need me. For the record, I do NOT like this. OUT.”
Kara and I had a code. We established it the first year of our friendship while working together in the field. Anytime we were ending a conversation, we typed the word OUT in capital letters to let the other know all was well. If either of us ended a conversation with the word OVER, it was a signal that something was wrong, and we needed back up. If we typed OVER & OUT, that meant all hell had broken loose and a full-on rescue mission was required. It was easily explained if we were in a tight spot and someone happened to be reading our texts, and it had saved us both more than once.
Just as I was sliding my phone into my back pocket, Cian came down the stairs carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and a basket that I sincerely hoped contained bread. I was starving. He settled the tray on the bar and placed a bowl of soup and the small basket in front of me.
Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Page 5
