by Mary Lindsey
A lit candle floated on the surface of the water between the body and the human child who wept at the edge of the pier.
26
The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “Marginalia,” 1849
The sun hadn’t even come up when someone rapped on the door. At first, I wasn’t sure whether I’d dreamed the taps or had actually heard them. I pulled on my jeans and stood just inside the door. “Hello?”
“It’s me, lad.” Francine opened the unlocked door, still in a bathrobe, sucking in ragged breaths. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been here by yourself for long?”
“Yes—most of the night. Why?”
She stepped inside. “You need to get out of here and hide.”
“What?”
kquo wr h-1"There’s been another death.”
“And? I’m blamed every time someone dies. What good will hiding do?”
She bustled into the bedroom and returned with my shirt. “It will buy you time and give us a chance to figure out what happened.”
I took the shirt she thrust at me. “Who was it?”
“Katie McAlister.”
My stomach dropped. I would naturally be suspect number one. She’d made no pretense of liking me, nor I her.
“She was called by the sea like the others, I’m sure.” I pulled the shirt over my head.
She tugged my shirt down by the bottom hem. “This one is different.”
“How?”
“Where are your shoes?”
I pointed to the bedroom. “How is it different?”
She returned with my shoes and dropped them at the foot of a chair. I sat and slipped my feet into them. I was able to lace and tie hiking boots one-handed, but as if I were a child, she laced and tied them for me. “You need to hurry. Can you hide at Taibhreamh? They wouldn’t dare hurt you there.”
“Yes.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Francine. Tell me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, lad.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “She was pulled out of the harbor with one of your paintbrushes stabbed into her heart . . . and they are coming for you. They’re bringing a rope. You’ve got to get to Taibhreamh. Now!”
Shouting erupted from nearby.
“The kitchen window,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
I bolted to the window, threw it open, climbed over the sink, and practically fell out of it behind the house. Francine pulled the window closed behind me. “I love you,” she mouthed.
The shouting was much louder outside the house. The villagers were close. In fact, it sounded as if they were everywhere. “We’ll check the house. You go to Taibhreamh!”
The door to the house slammed open. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I was here looking for him,” Francine answered, her usual calm completely gone.
I had no idea who she was talking to. It didn’t matter, really. At this point, the villagers were all the same and of one mind: kill the demon.
“If we find out you are hiding him, you’ll hang beside him,” a male growled.
I crawled behind the lobster cages. Through the vines, I watched a group of men climbing up the trail to Taibhreamh.
“Spread out and search,” another male voice shouted.
Darkness was the only advantage I had and it wouldn’t last long. Already, a warm glow spread along the horizon where the sky met the sea. Climbing down the cliff and running along the beach would be the fastest route to Taibhreamh, but it would leave me visible and vulnerable. The woods were my best option.
“Stay here in case he returns,” the man in the house said to another villager I couldn’t see. “And be sure she doesn’t leave to go warn him.”
“He didn’t do it!” Francine said. “He’s incapable of such a thing.”
“Shut up,” the man shouted. “He should have been hu have beng years ago. Hell, he should have been left to freeze as a newborn and burned alongside his mother. If it weren’t for you, he would have been.”
“He’s probably with the Leighton girl. If he’s in there, we’ll have a hard time getting him out,” said the man assigned to guard Francine.
“Ronan will make him available. She wants him gone more than we do,” the first man replied. “The best thing that could happen would be if he’s in the mansion.”
Despite my desperate desire to see Anna and clear this up before she heard about it from someone else, Taibhreamh wasn’t the most suitable place to hide. Brigid Ronan had the upper hand and she knew the insides of the beast far better than I. No place there would be safe.
Francine’s store was out, obviously. My pa would never hide me, and when daylight came, even the woods wouldn’t conceal me for long.
The lighthouse was the only location left. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of the island and the risk of being seen would be great.
The band of light that streaked across the horizon widened by the second. My time to make a move was running out. I scanned the trails to and from my location in all directions. No villagers were close enough for me to see or hear. Most of them had probably arrived at their designated search locations. I doubted any of them had been assigned the lighthouse. No one knew of the key. As a boy, I had pulled it out of the ashes after the sea captain’s funeral, so it wouldn’t be considered a hiding place.
Staying low, I crept from behind the lobster cages to the outhouse, then sprinted to the copse of trees near the ice pond. My arrival alarmed some ducks paddling on the surface. Their calls seemed deafening as they fled in a rush of wings. I held my breath and willed my heart to slow.
“The pond!” someone a considerable distance down the trail yelled.
Crashing through the thorny underbrush, I cut through the woods north of the pond and dashed toward the lighthouse.
The key was right where I’d left it behind the loose brick in the wall. Shouts sounded from the trail south of me and were answered by more from the direction of Taibhreamh. My heart fell into my stomach at the word “lighthouse.”
I focused on not losing my grip on the key. If I dropped it, I was done. Now that they scented blood, the frenzy was unstoppable. Only stalling them long enough for reason to set in could save me now. And the chance reason would settle into the minds of a mob so revenge driven was slim.
Still, I wasn’t ready to just give up. If the Cailleach had decided it was my time, she would have to work for it.
The lock clicked and I opened the door just enough to wedge my foot in the crack. I held the door in place with my shoulder while I slipped the key out. I shoved it in the knob on the inside, then closed the door, wrapping myself in a blanket of total darkness. Only when the lock tumblers clicked into place did I realize I’d been holding my breath. I took a shuddering gulp of air and turned my back to the door, slumping down to the floor in a moment of exquisite relief. I’d bought myself at least a few more minutes of life.
Through the brick, the villagers’ words were muffled, but the tone was clear. Anger oozed through the lighthouse walls with increasing volume as more of them arrived.
My dark, safe cocoon became a torture chamber when they began striking the metal door with a hard object. A hammer, perh hammer,aps? I crawled to the ladder, certain my ears would bleed as the blows resonated around the cramped circular room and rattled through my skull.
Then the banging stopped.
I knew they hadn’t simply given up. They were going to try something else, but what? There was no way in . . . or out, for that matter. Deaf and blind in a sense and completely helpless, I waited. And waited. And waited.
My thoughts turned to the last time I was here—to the first time I’d ever been kissed or touched by someone other than a caretaker. The smell of her skin, the smoothness and warmth of her lips. The one thing I had worth living for—or dying for—Anna.
Then it dawned on me: I
might never be with her again. A panic so severe I was unable to breathe seized me. I had to see her whatever the cost. I refused to let this lighthouse become my tomb without seeing her again.
I climbed the ladder and pushed the hatch open. When I emerged into the morning sunlight and looked down onto the villagers surrounding the lighthouse, their next strategy became painfully apparent: they were turning the lighthouse into my funeral pyre—only the brick structure would never catch fire, it would just heat up like an oven and smolder, killing me slowly and painfully, as befitted a demon.
* * *
The screaming of the Bean Sidhes was the first indication something was happening on the south coast of the island. By the time Muireann got there, most of the Na Fir Ghorm had assembled near the shore under the lighthouse.
Villagers were piling lumber around and against the structure.
“You cheated,” a Bean Sidhe screamed in the ancient tongue.
“We did no such thing,” replied the Na Fir Ghorm leader.
In her golden, female form, the Bean Sidhe hovered just over the surface of the water. “You killed the woman by your own hand. She was stabbed.”
He smiled, exposing his multiple layers of sharp teeth behind his blue lips. “She killed herself. We simply added the stabbing for effect after she was dead. A lovely detail, don’t you think?”
“How does this test their love? You said it was a test of faith. This is going to result in his execution,” another Bean Sidhe cried.
Several of the hideous blue creatures bobbing at the surface chuckled. “The event was received with more emotion and zeal than we anticipated,” one said. “We assumed he would be blamed as usual and the female would have to determine whether or not she has enough faith in him to believe him even though the evidence is insurmountable.”
“That is hardly a test. And now the contest is invalid because he will be dead.”
The Na Fir Ghorm leader grinned. “What better test of love than death?”
Muireann sank under the surface and bit her lip to keep her sobs quiet. If only she hadn’t fallen asleep, she could’ve done something to save her Liam. She could have pulled out the stick before the humans found the body or distracted the pitiful woman before she succumbed to the call of the Na Fir Ghorm. Anything. But now her Liam would die and it was her fault.
27
Experience has shown, and Philosophy will always show, tShat a vast portion, perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises from the apparently irrelevant.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “Doings of Gotham [Letter VI],” 1844
The villagers were too swept up in their murderous frenzy to notice me observing from the deck. Almost giddy with purpose, they piled lumber against the aging whitewashed brick of the lighthouse.
Once the lumber had been lit, I’d only have two options: try to burst out the door through the flames, which would be nearly impossible considering the amount of lumber stacked against it and the inevitable heat of the door, or remain and be slow roasted. Neither prospect appealed. Somehow, the noose Mac Reilly had thrown over a large limb in a tree just west of the lighthouse seemed preferable—inviting, almost.
No. I would not go without a fight and I would see Anna first. I wanted to leave this world with her name as my last utterance, her face my last sight, and her sweet voice filling my ears.
“He didn’t do it, I tell you!” Francine yelled as she emerged into the lighthouse clearing from the trail, Ron Reilly close behind.
“She climbed out a window,” he shouted, catching up and grabbing her upper arm. “I tried to keep her put.”
“Polly! Go get Anna Leighton!” Francine pleaded, trying to shake free of Ron. “Go quick.”
Polly looked up at her husband, Edmond, and he nodded. Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt and ran toward the trail to Taibhreamh.
At this point, I suspected most every resident of Dòchas was present and pitching in to add lumber to the pile, except my pa. He was nowhere to be seen.
I shuddered at the grisly sight at the edge of the cliff. Katie McAlister’s body lay twisted in an unnatural position in the grass, my long blue boar’s hair detail brush protruding from her rib cage. No wonder they wanted me dead.
They must have combed the island for every fallen limb and piece of driftwood available because there was more stacked around the base of the lighthouse than in the Bealtaine bonfires. Because of the short stature of the structure and the height of the piles of wood, the flames would lick the bottom of the deck and set it on fire.
“It’s time!” Connor MacFarley shouted, pulling a lighter from his pocket. “Time to rid our island of evil forever.”
“What! Are you going to light yourself on fire, then?” I shouted.
There was a cumulative gasp and then a sea of faces turned to me.
“Because I haven’t shoved my wife off a cliff or tried to rape a little girl. In fact, I’ve never committed any crime.”
“Time!” he yelled again.
“Light that fire, and I’ll kill you on the spot.” My pa pushed through the crowd, knife in hand. “We’ll not be killing him until we hear his side.”
“What side is there?” someone in the crowd shouted. “His paintbrush is in her heart. He killed her.”
Pa looked up at me as if seeking an answer.
“My paintbrushes all burned in the fire,” I said. “Whoever burned down my shed must have taken the brush first. Nothing was left and I had no brushes with me at the time it burned.”
“Prove it!” someone shouted.
Anna, Miss Ronan, Deirdre, and Polly entered the clearing. Anna ran to the base of the lighthouse.
“I can’t possibly prove it. I can only tell you that I had no brushes left after the fire.”
“But that’s your brush?” MacFarley asked.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothin’!” he replied. “She was found in the water off the pier where you work with your paintbrush stabbed into her.”
The look of horror on Anna’s face made me feel as though a brush had been stabbed into my own heart.
“He wasn’t there,” Francine said. “He hasn’t worked for me in days. He was home asleep.”
“Were you with him?” MacFarley asked.
“Well, no, but—”
“Was anyone with him?”
“No. I was alone,” I answered.
MacFarley struck the lighter and moved toward the wood by the door.
“I’ll kill you dead right here and now, Connor,” Pa threatened. “You’ll not be burning him.”
MacFarley released the thumb switch on the lighter and the flame died.
“I need to talk to Anna,” I said. “I need to see her alone.”
A grumble spread through the crowd.
Anna shook her head and my world collapsed. She didn’t want to talk to me. She thought me capable of horrors. I had to get to her.
“Anna, please.”
Her eyes full of tears, she again shook her head. “Stay where you are.”
No. It would not end this way. I needed to touch her. To hold her one last time before leaving this world. The Cailleach might have won, but I would die on my terms.
I descended the ladder and unlocked the door. It wouldn’t open because of the wood against it. With my shoulder I shoved and it gave an inch or so.
“He’s coming out!” someone shouted.
“Get ready,” another said.
I shoved again and gained a couple more inches. I could hear them moving the lumber that was blocking my way. In just moments, I would break free and be able to hold Anna one last time. If she let me.
Finally, the door burst open and I squinted against the brilliant sunlight. The villagers crouched in various states of readiness to snatch me. Slowly and deliberately, I took a step toward Anna. “I’m only going to speak with her. Let me talk to her and I’ll peacefully succumb to whatever you wish.” I took another slow step and none of them pounc
ed.
“Back off!” Anna said to the villagers, then ran to me.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and her scent filled my nose. I breathed deep and sighed. I was complete.
“I said, back off!”
The villagers backed up, leaving a closed ring around us.
“I didn’t do it,” I said.
She buried her face in my shirt. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. You could never kill anyone.”
“Why did you tell me to stay up there?”
She took my face in her hands. “Because you were safe up there, stupid.”
The ring of people tightened closer. I wasn’t getting out of this alive. “I love you,” I whispered in her hair. “I’ll wait for you, wherever I am. I want you forever.”
“You have me forever,” she whispered back. “But these people aren’t going to be the ones to test out that theory.” She stiffened and pulled away. “Where I come from, people are put on trial and evidence is presented to either convict or exonerate them. Where I come from, you can’t just set people on fire or hang them without a fair trial.”
“Well, this ain’t where you come from,” MacFarley said, grabbing me by the upper arm. Ron grabbed my other, and they jerked me back from Anna.
“No!” she shouted as they dragged me toward the tree. “No!”
I fought, but it was futile. Ron had my dead arm and MacFarley was far too powerful.
“You can’t do this!” Francine shouted. “James Callan, do something.”
“You’ll have me to answer to, MacFarley,” Pa shouted. “You kill that boy and you’ll pay. All of you will.”
MacFarley laughed. “You’d better stay away from cliffs, Callan.” He shoved Anna away with one hand and put the noose over my head with the other. Mac and several other men held the end hanging down on the other side of the tree limb. “Somebody help James control himself,” MacFarley ordered.
