by Joyce Lavene
Aine stayed where she was. It was difficult to control her temper but necessary. Only in calm could she relate to the most important man in her life. She began to comb her long gray hair through her fingers as she spoke in a sing-song voice.
“Your family has existed for many years with different branches of the O’Neill bloodline. Hundreds of years ago, a Queen of Ulster took to her breast a false lover who accused your family of terrible crimes.”
As she spoke, her countenance changed to the young, beautiful queen in the green velvet dress. Her fiery hair spilled down her back and across her shoulders. She wore a gold crown regally on her head. The emeralds in her ears and around her throat matched the color of her eyes.
“The queen believed her lover who had told her that he was wronged by the O’Neill family. She led the group that went to O’Neill castle and killed a great many of your family. In doing this, she doomed herself to haunt the O’Neills after she had passed through the underworld. She exists only as a beane sidhe to serve the family. For hundreds of years after she passed, she was friend, advisor, and protector to your ancestors.”
Hazy images of the O’Neill family through generations in Ireland passed before O’Neill’s amazed eyes, holding him in thrall. He saw his long-dead family members during the stages of their lives with a shadowy figure that greeted them at birth, came to them in adolescence to tell them their story, and held their hands at the moment of death to guide them to the underworld.
“I am Aine, Queen of Ulster, descendent of the Fae and the Tuatha de Danaan. I confess to you my sin against your family, which brings me to serve you, as is traditional. I regret I could not be here for several generations, including the start of your own life. I was held against my will at Castle O’Neill and only woke there recently. I immediately came to find you and relate your story. I am in your service from now until the day you die. I shall announce your death three times before it comes to you. I swear to you my fealty and that I shall be next to you as you travel to the underworld.”
Aine changed to the middle-aged woman in the black cloak and then to the ragged crone as she continued to comb through her waist-length hair.
When she had stopped telling the story, the spell on O’Neill was lifted. He stared at her without speaking for several moments.
“Are you here to announce my death for the first time?” he asked.
“No. I should have come to you as a young man in a dream and told you what the bond between us is. Because I was spelled to a two-hundred-year sleep, this was not possible. Thus I am here now and will serve you and your descendants.”
“You can’t die because of the wrong you did my family hundreds of years ago. Is that right?”
She nodded. Her eyeless face was before him like a nightmare he couldn’t awaken from.
“I release you. I think you’ve gained absolution. Is that possible for me to do?”
“No. Other O’Neills have tried. I am here until I am no longer. When the moment of my freedom is at hand, I shall be gone.” She didn’t tell him that the moment might come at the time of his death if he didn’t have children of his own. It was not her place to give him that information.
“I knew the first time I saw you at the pizzeria. I recognized you even though you had changed so much compared to the painting.”
“Painting?”
“My father died when I was a baby. I never knew anyone from the O’Neill side of the family. My mother raised me, but she kept a few things that he wanted passed down to me. One of them is an antique miniature. Wait. Let me show you.”
He moved experimentally, like a man who wasn’t sure if he was still under his own control. Aine stayed where she was and watched him. He was only partially clad in thin shorts, leaving his lean, muscular body open to her perusal.
Something moved inside her. It hadn’t moved for centuries. She’d thought it as dead as the rest of her.
O’Neill impatiently pulled out a small wood chest and rummaged through it with a careless hand until he came to a tiny, oval-shaped portrait. “My mother thought this must be an ancestor of mine. She said my father told her that it had been passed down in my family for a couple hundred years. You see? It’s you.”
Aine peered at it as he stood close holding the likeness. It was a portrait that she had never sat for and yet it was her in her younger form. She touched it with a careful finger.
“It is quite remarkable. He must have painted it from memory.” She glanced at the current O’Neill. “Jamie O’Neill was a talented painter, but because of family obligations, his paintings were limited to his life at the castle. He never told me about this. He must have painted it years before I led him to the underworld.”
“Wow. My family had a castle?”
She slowly smiled at his childlike inquiry. “Yes. Castle O’Neill still stands. It is in ruins but still there.”
“I’ll have to go see it sometime.” He ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “I have a thousand questions I’d like to ask you. This is amazing!”
“Amazing?”
“Yes. I have a beane sidhe. How cool is that? You have magic, right? Turn back into that pretty form again. How do you do that? Can you teach me to do it?”
Aine raised her hand. “Sleep, O’Neill. You have learned enough for one night.”
He collapsed, snoring, on the rug at her feet.
She took the portrait with her. Perhaps he didn’t mean her to have it. If so, she would return it. But it was pleasant to look upon as she had once looked upon herself in still water and polished surfaces. It reminded her of who she had been. Possibly not a good thing, but one she wanted to indulge for a brief time.
With her proper introduction to O’Neill over, Aine went back to the room in the brick building with the purple doors. She hadn’t had a room of her own since her death. She wasn’t sure what to do with it since she didn’t sleep and kept no personal possessions. Now she put the small portrait on a side table near the window and stared out at the night that enfolded the city.
She finally left the room and soundlessly wandered the halls of the brick building. The mouse and the witch slept and dreamed on the same floor. There was little furniture in the two floors above. No one had lived here in some time. Ghosts moved like winding sheets through the dusty space, wondering why they lingered.
Aine glided through the darkness, thinking about the past and knowing she would have to return to Castle O’Neill if she ever wanted to discover who had spelled her into missing the last dozen or so family members she should have served. Not being there for those nameless O’Neills might mean she would not find release when Sean O’Neill passed from the world.
What then? Even she, who had seen the underworld and tasted death, shuddered and wept to think what was left for her.
Aine no longer had a heart or any other living organ in her dried body, but anger and the thirst for revenge—the same qualities that had doomed her as Queen of Ulster—began to rage. But it was different than when she was alive. Now she could observe the storm within her without being part of it.
An almost imperceptible force called to her through the dark passages and empty rooms. She surrendered to its summons and found herself in the downstairs office that belonged to Mr. Bad.
“I assume you found your O’Neill.” His voice was soft yet commanding. Nuances of power hid in it.
“Yes. It was an unusual experience.”
“Not surprising.” His chair squeaked as he moved in it. “Tell me, Aine, what do you make of these deaths that you and Miss Merryweather are looking into?”
“Perhaps it is old magic—the kind that no longer exists.”
He chuckled. “Many would say such about you.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
“I would say they are wrong. What do you make of the deaths?”
“I believe it is more than magic, Aine. I believe a creature from the furthest depths of the past may be responsible. I am not cert
ain if Miss Merryweather can fight such a creature.”
“You lack faith in the witch, sir?”
“Not faith. She has a good heart, and her magic is strong. But this creature cannot be destroyed by ordinary magic or ordinary weapons.”
Aine considered the legions of creatures from werewolves to pookas that she had seen in her lifetime. “Are you saying the creature cannot be defeated?”
“I am saying that I suspect slaying this creature might take more than physical skill and magic. When the time is right, there must be a union of the two—including modern weaponry. Even then I have my doubts as to the outcome.”
“Who are you?” Aine didn’t hesitate to ask the question Sunshine would never have asked.
“Who do you think I am?”
“I have felt power such as yours only once in my existence. I do not like to put a name to it, and yet all the signs are there. I ask myself, why would he be here among the living?”
He laughed, rich and hearty enough to shake the office. “Put your suspicions aside, Aine of Ulster. No doubt you know my name. Others of this time do not. I would rather you didn’t help them remember. I am here for a purpose which I can’t name, but it is not to hurt those around me. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “I can indeed, my lord. Others will not hear your true name from my lips.”
“Thank you. I bid you goodnight then.”
Chapter Eleven
Sunshine awakened as she always did—with a new perspective on life—eager to decide what she would wear that day.
She brushed her temperamental hair and washed her face with a special herbal mixture that she’d created for herself. She looked into her clear, blue eyes and smiled at her beautiful face in the mirror.
“I know things went badly yesterday,” she told her reflection. “But things will be better today.”
Her reflection didn’t agree with her. “What’s going to make it better? John is still dead. Or have you forgotten already? You have limited information as to who killed him. Where are you going from here?”
She hated it when her reflection was negative. “There are several possibilities now. I can feel the threads being pulled together.”
“But are you at the heart of that? Or is it just an illusion?”
“I don’t have time for this today. You need to go back to sleep and wake up on the right side of the bed.”
“Which side is that?” her reflection yelled back at her as she left the bathroom. “Wait a minute. We have more to discuss.”
“Not right now. I’ll see you later.”
Choosing a bright yellow dress that went well with her hair, Sunshine added purple jewelry and wore purple sandals that tied on her ankles. Everything went with purple. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror again. She needed to be on her toes if she was going to be able to use the information they had uncovered from the tattoo shop.
Aine and Jane were already in the office by the time Sunshine arrived downstairs. It surprised her how well the pair of opposites seemed to get along after Jane’s initial fear. Usually it took her longer to trust someone. Her mind was still caught up in a small rodent’s thought processes even though she could take on the size and shape of a woman.
“Good morning, ladies.” Sunshine went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea. “What are we looking at?”
“I looked up everything I could find about Detective O’Neill.” Jane glanced at Sunshine. “That was per her request as a new associate.”
“That’s fine,” Sunshine said. “You were right to accommodate her. What did you find?”
Jane smiled nervously. “I found everything you can possibly imagine about his life. It’s like he doesn’t do anything he’s worried about hiding. Everything was in plain view—including his girlfriend.”
Sunshine and Aine stared at the screen as the beautiful, lush, black-haired woman from the pizzeria smiled back at them. She had brilliant blue eyes and a wide mouth that was made for passion.
“Who is she?” Aine inquired. “Can you find an image of her that shows the rest of her body? She seems thin to me. A woman needs large hips to carry healthy children.”
“Her name is Elena Spiros. This is her picture from her driver’s license,” Jane explained. “It only shows faces, I’m afraid.”
“What does she do?” Sunshine asked with a glance at Aine. “Believe me, these days you can tell more about someone who plans to have children by the job they do.”
“She’s an artist.” Jane brought up a group of pictures displaying Elena’s work. “Her paintings are wonderful, very expressive.”
The three women studied the colorful paintings as the computer scrolled through them.
“An artist.” Sunshine shrugged. “You have a much better chance of O’Neill having children with an artist than say a stockbroker or his police partner.”
“Good.” Aine smiled in a satisfied manner. “The search was well done. Thank you, Jane.”
“What about seeing him last night?” Sunshine blew on her hot herb tea before she sipped it. “Did you visit him? Are things straight between you now?”
The front door to the office opened abruptly bringing in the scent of sea air, the traffic sounds of the city, and O’Neill.
“I’m just wondering if it’s okay if I tell my girlfriend about you.” He grinned at Aine. “Good morning, Sunshine. Miss Smith.”
“I guess that answers the question.” Sunshine took Jane into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry.” O’Neill watched them go. “Was it a secret? Do they know about you?”
“Most assuredly they do. But others should not be trusted with this knowledge,” Aine told him. She’d never seen an O’Neill so exuberant about what she had told him. Most were humbled and sobered with the thought of their own mortality.
“Elena is completely trustworthy,” he assured her. “We’re not married yet, but we might be someday. If you’re going to be in my life, she should know about you. Probably my partner should too. I mean, what if I’m shot and dying in an alley and you come along to grab me to take me to the underground? She wouldn’t know what to think, and she might even shoot you.”
Aine looked into his young face wondering if she had ever been as young. “Telling your wife is up to you. Telling your children is essential. Telling friends and men you sport with would be wrong. And it is the underworld, not underground.”
His blue eyes clouded. “Sorry. I’m still new at this. Is there somewhere I can search for it? I got up this morning and checked Google. There were a lot of references to the beane sidhe, but I wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.”
Jane’s head popped around the corner from the kitchen. “Google. He’s talking about the magic box.”
Sunshine yanked her back with an apology to her associate.
“I do not pretend to know everything about this time. I will be happy to tell you what you want to know about the beane sidhe and the underworld. I’m not sure what can be gained by checking your Google for information.”
“That’s okay.” He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I didn’t even think about you being new to this century. Let’s set up another time to talk. I’m still working those homicides, but I might not be back too late. Do you have a cell phone yet?”
Aine gasped when he touched her. For only an instant, she was the young Queen of Ulster again, in the spring of her life, all the magic of living and love before her.
For all her contact with the O’Neill family in the past, she hadn’t been touched by another person since her death. The earlier family knew the rules and boundaries. She would have to assume that her O’Neill was as clueless about how to be with her as she was about Google and a cell phone.
She rubbed her shoulder where he’d touched her. It felt odd, as though power had surged through her. She returned immediately to her form as the middle-aged woman in black. What had caused the change? It was disorienting for her even though she recovered quickly.
“Sounds good.” He glanced toward the kitchen where Sunshine and Jane were spying on them. “And don’t worry—I know all of you are innocent of those killings. I’m not sure yet what’s going on, but Malto and I will find out.”
He said goodbye and started to leave when a call came through on his cell phone. He walked to the side of the room as Sunshine and Jane came out of the kitchen.
When he turned back, he had a grim appearance. “You two were busy last night, weren’t you?”
Sunshine was happy to respond. “We’re always busy. What’s up?”
“Have you ever heard of Tattoo Hell?” His gaze flashed to her and Aine. “Don’t bother answering. The police already have the video footage of your visit. Malto took one look, and she’s raging for arrest warrants for you.”
“What are you talking about, O’Neill?” Sunshine demanded.
“I’m talking about the last two owners of Tattoo Hell being found dead at their shop this morning. Do I need to tell you that they were ripped to pieces just like John Lancaster and Harley Matthews?”
Sunshine’s eyes narrowed before replying. “Excuse us a minute.”
Aine followed her into her office.
“Did you do this?” Sunshine asked in a hoarse voice.
“No. I had no reason to kill those men. They were not a threat to O’Neill.”
“Okay. Just checking.” The witch leaned close to her. “What was that with the quick change when he touched you? Is that supposed to happen because you haunt him?”
“Your questions annoy me.” Aine walked by her and out into the main office.
“Sorry about that.” Sunshine appeared right behind her. “That seems like a huge coincidence, I know. Believe me, they were healthy when we left them.”
“But you don’t have any idea what happened?” he asked her.
