“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Oscar said with a huge smile on his face.
“Uh-huh,” replied Brendan, pulling on his shades. “This airport is tiny. I thought Dublin was supposed to be some big city here.”
“It is, idiot,” began Lizzie. “If you would have looked at the website that Dad told us about you would see that this isn’t a transcontinental airport. It doesn’t need to be big.”
“Whatever, Liz,” Brendan groaned.
“What’d I tell you, kids? Clear skies.” Oscar sucked in another long breath of fresh air. “It look’s like it’s going to be a great start to our trip after all.”
Almost instantly, the clouds covered the sun and dumped hundreds of thousands of gallons of water from the sky. Lizzie pulled her hood up and sprinted down the steps and towards the terminal.
Brendan pulled his hat a little lower and said, “Yup. You called it, Dad. Clear skies.”
Oscar shook his head and watched his son bound down the steps. After a small sigh, he followed.
…
The dark stranger emerged from the plane and continued to watch the family. He took the steps, not in any kind of a hurry, and followed the rest of the passengers into the terminal.
…
Oscar came through the double glass doors and spotted his children shaking off the droplets of water. Most of the passengers on the small connecting flight were walking a short distance to the baggage carousal.
Grumpy and damp passengers congregated around the circular cone that the Dublin airport used. The bags shot out of a window that was fed by a conveyor belt and then slid down to the cone to the waiting travelers. Their baggage had yet to come down and people around them didn’t seem to be in patient moods.
“Great. No bags yet,” grumbled a large man with a thick Scottish accent. The big Scotsman grabbed a rail-thin airport worker by the arm as the young man was strolling by and said, “Hey, when are they going to get our bags off the plane?”
To his credit, the skeletal airport employee didn’t show any signs of intimidation and jerked his arm free before he answered. “They’ll get it when they get it, now won’t they?”
“Bah!” retorted the Scot.
Brendan smiled at the encounter as the employee continued his stroll, apparently unaffected, to join his buddies standing near a cute blonde that manned the gate.
“Dad, who knows when these yahoos are going to get our bags off,” observed Lizzie.
As if on queue, the skinny employee started jumping around and making donkey noises in the midst of his conversation. His buddies laughed, but the passengers only grumbled.
“We could be here for hours,” Lizzie continued.
“Well, then that’s going to give me time to go and get the rental car.” Oscar patted Brendan on the shoulder and said, “I’ll probably need some help driving on this trip, Son.”
Brendan’s eyes lit up. “You serious?”
“Sure,” smiled Oscar. “That’s, of course, if you can handle the power of the vehicle they give me. I already put you down as a second driver.”
“Sweet!”
“You guys hang out here and get the bags. I’ll meet you at the pick-up gate in twenty minutes.” Oscar walked away studying the printout he had of the car rental company’s confirmation email.
Lizzie and Brendan walked over to the baggage carousal once sounds could be heard from the conveyor window. Moments later, a few bags began to plop out and land at the bottom of the cone. A few people scurried up to grab their bags, including the big Scot. He ambled up, and just as he took his bag by the handle, a large golf bag tumbled down and smashed him in the face.
“Whoa! Did you see that?” laughed Lizzie.
“What in the bloody hell was that?” The Scot bellowed toward the crowd of workers.
The thin employee strolled over to the big man. “Is there a problem here?”
“You bet there is,” huffed the Scot. “I got hit in the face by a bloody golf bag!” The large man’s eyes were small in his pillowy cheeks but they were intense and fixed on the young airport worker.
“Well, sir, just maybe you should have moved your big, fat face out of the way.”
The Scot’s face grew to a bright red and a low growl rumbled in his throat. Brendan looked on with the rest of the crowd and waited for the large guy to either choke the thin guy or blow his top like a volcano.
“You rude, little son of a…” the large Scot began to move toward the worker when an alarm with a rotating yellow light burst to life above the conveyor window. The worker and the Scot glanced up at the window and saw that there was a luggage backup.
“Don’t worry, folks. I’ve got this,” boasted the young worker. He began climbing over bags that already sat upon the cone, not being cautious or overly concerned about smashing the contents until he reached the window. “Why do you always have to do this, Bessie? You’re making me look bad.”
The big Scot glowered at the young man while everyone else just exchanged curious glances. The worker began tugging on different bags, trying to loosen the logjam.
“Come on! I’ve got you now!” he exclaimed as he pulled as hard as he could.
The bags came loose and an avalanche of luggage spewed from the window. The massive flow swept the worker up and threw him backwards down the carousal. Somewhere in the fray the young skinny guy was thrown aside as the rest of the bags crashed full force into the big Scot. People walked over and plucked their bags off of the big man one at a time. Lizzie had to get hers from the carousal. It happened to be one on the worker’s face as he traveled around and around on the cone.
“Uh… thanks,” she said as she lifted her bag off. “Found it!” she yelled over to Brendan.
Brendan collected his and his father’s bags and they made their way to the pick-up gate leaving a very strange scene behind them. If this was any indication of what it was going to be like in Ireland, Brendan and Lizzie were preparing themselves for a really weird vacation.
Brendan and Lizzie walked through the pick-up gate and set the bags off to the side. The pick-up gate was no more than a covered throughway where cars could pick-up passengers. There was a paved road that stretched in both directions. The storm was past, but there was still a drizzle that made it hard to see what surrounded the airport. Haze and mist were floating in the air and a ton of puddles mirrored the haze. It was an ominous view no matter where they looked.
Brendan sat down on his bag and noticed that they seemed to be the only people getting picked up at the supposed pick-up gate. “This must not be a popular spot. It’s so empty.”
Lizzie nodded. “It’s sort of creepy. I feel like we’re in a big cemetery.”
Brendan couldn’t argue with that.
“How long did Dad say?”
Brendan glanced at the time on his cell phone and said, “Twenty minutes.”
“How long has it been?”
“About an hour,” responded Brendan.
A low rumbling sounded from the distance and the O’Neal kids looked up the road. Two headlight beams were cutting through the haze. As it came a little closer, they could see a red Ferrari speeding down the road in their direction.
“Man, about time. Awesome car, though.” Brendan was imagining himself at the wheel feeling like a superstar. How sweet was that going to be!
“Maybe Dad will let me drive, too,” said Lizzie.
“Keep dreaming,” Brendan scoffed. “Dad’s never going to let you drive.”
“He’ll let me drive before he lets you,” she sassed back.
Brendan rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Ferrari sped closer and showed no signs of slowing. The kids stepped back away from the road and leaned against the building. The car blasted through the pick-up gate splashing water all over them and in the process created such a vortex of wind that they were nearly knocked off their feet. Brendan wiped water from his eyes and looked over at his sister. Her curly
locks were soaked and hung sadly in her face. He reached over and plucked a leaf out of her hair.
As they stood dripping, Oscar pulled under the awning in a very small, very European hatchback. It was tiny and sputtered. Black smoke choked out of the tailpipe and filled the air around them. The paint was spotty at best as the metal shone fully in several places, at least it did where the rust hadn’t already taken over.
Oscar popped out of the driver seat and slapped the top of the car. “Load her up, kids.”
Brendan and Lizzie stood frozen in place, sopping wet and shocked. Oscar apparently did not notice the glazed expressions and lack of movement and strolled over and placed an arm around his kids’ shoulders.
“She’s a beaut, huh? Soak it in. That is a European classic.” He slapped Brendan on the back and continued, “And the best part is, you’ll get to drive her around most of the time. I mean, I’ll be busy with my research, so you’ll get to have a little time to cruise. Hey, watch out Irish girls… eh?”
Oscar grabbed his bag and went to the trunk. Lizzie moved in closer to her brother. “Yeah, watch out girls, because the fumes may kill you.” She grabbed her bag and loaded it into the small space.
“Let’s go, Brendan. We’re burning daylight,” called Oscar.
Brendan loaded his bag as his mind flashed warnings of how lame this whole trip was really going to be. He only coughed seven or eight times on the fumes.
…
The dark stranger stood in the rain pondering his next move. It had become clear that this family had been what he was waiting on for centuries. All he needed to do now was to “get the ball rolling,” as the Americans would say.
Chapter 2
Galway or Bust
The O’Neal’s new-to-them car bobbed wearily through the countryside outside of Dublin. Brendan watched the pretty scenery crawl by his window since the beater his dad rented could barely outrun a slow lawn mower or a fast sloth.
Brendan leaned on his arm rest and chewed on his fingernail. “Where are we going, Dad?”
“Galway,” replied Oscar. He merrily drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, an old habit that he had since before his band broke up in college.
“Why Galway?” Lizzie asked loudly from the back seat, headphones firmly in place.
Oscar smiled. “That’s supposed to be where it all began.” The static-filled signal on the AM radio crackled to life and Oscar was quick to turn the volume dial up. “Alright! Sing with me. Danny boy, Danny boy, the tides, the tides are calling.” Noticing that he was alone in song, he looked at his kids.
“Are you listening? Darn iPods.”
Smoke poured out from the exhaust pipe leaving a nice trail behind the O’Neals as they putted down the country roads. Brendan absently studied an Irish road map, Lizzie slumbered in the backseat, and Oscar peered through his reading glasses, which were balanced precariously on the end of his nose, at a printed sheet of directions while he drove.
“When we get there, Brendan, we need to head straight up to the room and get settled in.”
Brendan nodded. “Is this a hotel?”
Oscar raised a brow to consider the comparison. “It’s more like a bed and breakfast. We may have the whole thing to ourselves, though. I don’t think this is a peak travel season.”
Oscar handed the printout of the directions over to Brendan and he saw that it was folded and stapled. He flipped it to the front page and saw several images that Oscar had printed off of the hotel. Galway looked kind of cool. It didn’t seem like an isolated farm town or anything like that, so perhaps the trip could be okay. There were a few pictures of a castle and something that resembled civilization.
Galway was just like the pictures had promised, but to Brendan, the place looked a whole lot smaller. They found the bed and breakfast right away. It was a modest three-story home on the end of a narrow cobblestone street. A sign above the porch read “Gordy’s Home” and beneath the sign, rocking in their chairs, sat an elderly couple.
Oscar pulled the car to a stop in front of the place. The car threw out a loud Bang and a puff of exhaust. Luckily no one was around or Brendan would have been really embarrassed. He looked at the old guy in his blue jeans and white-buttoned down shirt and the old lady with her flower-patterned dress and hair up in a bun and heaved out a short breath.
“Gordy, you think?”
Oscar opened his door and said, “Probably. Stay here and I’ll make sure.” He got out and approached the old couple.
Brendan looked back at his sister. She was slumped against the window with a small line of slobber stringing out of the corner of her mouth.
“Wake up, Liz. We’re here.”
Lizzie sort of woke up. “Huh? Here?” She rubbed her eyes and saw that her dad was coming back to the car.
“Is that Gordy?” asked Brendan.
“Sure is and he told me to park around back.” Oscar walked around to the trunk. “Pop the hatch for me, will ya?”
Brendan leaned over and complied. He opened his own door and got out to stretch his legs. Lizzie emerged from the backseat, iPod humming.
“Lizzie, help your old dad with the bags while Brendan parks the car.”
Brendan cracked his neck to relieve some tension in his shoulders and walked over to the driver seat. “How do I get to the back?”
Oscar handed a bag to Lizzie, who promptly put it on the ground and shuffled her songs. “Gordy said that there was some alley just down the street. Turn right there, get to the end of the buildings, and turn right again. You’ll see Gordy’s lot from there.”
Oscar cleared the trunk and then closed it. He and Lizzie began lugging the luggage to the front door. Gordy almost got up to help.
Almost.
Brendan drove very slowly down the street passing many homey buildings all housing varying businesses. There was a restaurant, a clothing shop (with the coolest styles no doubt), a souvenir shop, a bookstore, a pub, and a gas station.
“Food, clothes, junk, books. Oh a bar… whoa! Look at that guy,” Brendan said aloud to an empty car.
A fifty-something guy was stumbling around on the sidewalk with a woman under his arm. They were talking loudly, but Brendan wasn’t in earshot at the time. The man stopped walking and broke into an Irish jig. As he drove a little further, Brendan caught a snippet of their conversation.
“Look at me,” slurred the man. “I’m dancing a jig!”
The woman frowned and crossed her arms. “Would you cut that out? You’re not even Irish.”
The man paused in mid-jig and looked her square in the eye. “Well, I should have been.” The guy jumped back into his jig, dancing circles around the woman. Brendan drove on.
“Ah, the alley,” declared Brendan. He turned the car and half-blocked the sidewalk. He stopped well short of the alley’s entrance and stared at the ultra-narrow path between the buildings. “How am I supposed to fit down there?”
The man and the woman stumbled in front of Brendan’s car and paused. The guy looked at the alley and then back at Brendan’s car. After taking a few looks back and forth, the man hollered out, “I wouldn’t even try that and I’m three sheets to the wind.”
The woman grabbed the guy by the arm and dragged him down the sidewalk. Brendan waited for them to get out of the way before sticking his head out of the window to reexamine the problem.
“There’s no way.”
“You can make it, you chicken,” taunted an Irish-accented voice from the left.
“You must be crazy,” Brendan responded and looked over to the owner of the voice. She was beautiful, like an angel. Was that harp music? He shook it off and tried to play it a little cooler. “Have you been in that pub, too? There’s no way I can make it through there.”
The girl chuckled and then walked over and opened the door. “Slide over, chicken. Let a woman show you how it’s done.” She shoved Brendan into the passenger seat, slammed the door shut, popped the clutch, and jammed on the accelerator.
“Now that was some fun,” laughed the girl. “I’m Dorian, by the way. You got a name of your own, or should I keep calling you chicken?”
Brendan peeled his hands free of their grips and looked at the angel who drove like the devil. “My name’s Brendan.”
“Oh, a Yank, eh?” She sized him up for a moment. “It’s nice to meet you, Brendan.” She threw her door open and stepped out. She started to strut away.
Brendan jumped out of the passenger side and shouted, “Wait up!” He hustled over to where she was standing. “Wait. Where are you going?”
Dorian playfully swiped a lock of auburn hair out of her face, only to allow it to fall back down again. She smiled and bit her lower lip, clearly showing some sort of interest in Brendan. “I must be off for home, Brendan the Yank. It’s getting late, and a lady can’t be too careful.”
“Something tells me that you can handle yourself. Like that driving! That was amazing! Where did you learn to drive like that?”
Dorian smiled a little broader. “I’ve got a confession. That was my first time behind the wheel.” She reveled in Brendan’s shocked look. “It sure was fun though.”
He continued to stare, and his mouth opened up without his control.
“With your mouth open like that you remind me of my Uncle Colym after a late night.” Dorian glanced into the darkening sky. “I’ve really got to be moving on now.”
As she began to walk away, Brendan called after her. “When can I see you again?”
She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder, melting Brendan where he stood. She treated him with one last dazzling smile before disappearing into the shadows.
The Obsidian Dagger Page 2
