by Kate Sweeney
Liar’s Moon
Kate Sweeney
Liar’s Moon
© 2010 by Kate Sweeney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ISBN 13: 978-1-935216-19-3
First Printing: 2010
This Trade Paperback Is Published By
Intaglio Publications
Walker, LA USA
www.intagliopub.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
_______________________________________________
Credits
Executive Editor: Tara Young
Cover design by Tiger Graphics
Acknowledgments
As always, I’d like to thank the usual suspects: Jule, Denise, and Maureen for their beta prowess and honesty.
And, Tara, if the editing process can be enjoyable, it’s because of you.
And finally, to Sheri Payton, who knew moving to Louisiana would be the best thing for me and Intaglio. And she was right, as usual, which is annoying.
The Lover’s moon is high and bright
Guides love and truth throughout the night
The Liar’s moon with mists of grey
Schemes to drive the truth away
Anonymous
Prologue
Grayson MacCarthaigh glanced around the grassy area behind St. Brigid’s Monastery. Wiping the soft rain from her face, she looked down at the headstone and smiled. “Damned Irish weather, Ma,” she whispered and lightly touched the cold, wet stone.
She had buried her mother months earlier and remembered how Corky Kerrigan and Neala Rourke stood in respectful silence under an umbrella along with the nuns as the parish priest said kind words about Maeve Grayson MacCarthaigh.
Now Grayson knelt, mindless of the wet grass, and laid the purple sprigs of heather on the damp soil. She bent down and whispered, “You are the best of everything God made, Ma. Take care of Vic and the little Maeve. I’ll see you all someday.”
She swallowed the emotions that caught in her throat and stood. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to Corky, whose green eyes rimmed with tears. “I miss Maeve so much, Gray.” His voice cracked with emotion.
Grayson nodded and patted his hand. “No use standing in the rain.”
Corky smiled. “You’ve been out of Ireland too long. This isn’t rain.” He held out his palm. “It’s just a soft day.”
Grayson smiled affectionately. “It’s rain, Corky.”
In silence, they made their way around the monastery on the dirt path. The same path Grayson had walked a hundred times in her youth; she would be bored to death as her mother and the other women in the village had their discussions about life, God, and the ancient ones.
“Have you seen Neala?” Grayson asked.
Corky shrugged. “She’s at the museum. Trying to explain what’s happened.”
“That won’t be easy.” Grayson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They stopped in the courtyard of the monastery. “How is she going to explain the loss of an archaeological find?”
“I know. Telling the officials at the National Museum in Dublin that a nearly two thousand-year-old Celtic wizard took the stone to call upon the ancient druids of Ireland somehow doesn’t seem—”
“Rational?” Grayson interjected. “How can anyone believe this?”
Corky leaned against the stone wall of the monastery, running his fingers through his unruly red hair. “At least the police in Dublin seem satisfied on the cause of Maeve’s death.”
Grayson let out a sarcastic snort. “Attacked by a wolf—”
“Well, it’s partly true,” Corky said softly. “Phelan Tynan is a shape-shifting—”
“Fucking asshole.”
“And a wolf. So the inspector seemed to buy it. Especially since you mentioned a rabid dog instead of a wolf.”
“Inspector Gaffney did not buy it, rabid dog or not. She’ll be back. If she’s any detective, she will.”
“But I did have Emmett intervene.”
“I hope your government friend can keep her off our backs. Inspector Gaffney knows we’re lying about Ma’s death.” The rain had stopped, and Grayson lifted her head to the cloudy sky. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “I’m not sure about this goddess and immortal stuff,” she admitted in a quiet voice.
“I know, but there’s no turning back now. Neala said she’d check in later in the day. Until then, let’s get back and see if the prophecy leads us to anything new.” He looked at Grayson and smiled. “And you have to hone the powers you have.”
Grayson looked down at the crescent-shaped birthmark on her left palm. Because of this birthmark—or birthright, as Corky liked to call it—Grayson’s life was forever changed. She was the true descendant, the one who was destined to protect the powers of the Tuatha De Danann, the ancient Irish race of the goddess Danu. It was still all too bizarre for Grayson to comprehend. Her logical world back in Chicago was gone, and being a detective with the Chicago Police Department seemed light years away. In such a short time, a matter of months, her mother had died, her life changed, and now she was some sort of immortal. She looked down at the three rings on her left ring finger. Smiling sadly, she caressed the rings—her wedding ring, Vic’s wedding ring, and Maeve’s.
Vic, she thought. How she missed her wife still. The visions of her diving in front of Grayson and the other policemen, taking the spray of bullets for her, and dying because of it were still too vivid.
Two women in Grayson’s life who she loved, both taken in a violent manner—both dying for her. She felt the tears sting her eyes once again and quickly cleared her throat. She looked up to see Corky watching her, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s all too fantastic to believe, but it’s all too true,” he said in his soft Irish brogue.
Grayson rubbed her face in an irritated gesture. “I know. I know.”
Corky looked past the monastery walls and out to the green rolling hills. “You know what I’m wonderin’?”
“I’m so afraid to ask.”
Corky laughed. “It’s quiet here. Almost too quiet. I wonder what Phelan is planning.”
Grayson felt a cold shiver run up her spine that had nothing to do with the damp Irish morning. In all this, she had forgotten Phelan Tynan was still on the loose. After what happened a few months before, how in the world could that be?
“I don’t know, but you’re right, it’s too quiet. He has to be up to something.”
For a moment, Grayson looked into Corky’s green eyes, filled with uncertainty. The poor guy looked scared, Grayson thought. “C’mon. Let’s go read that book of yours. Maybe it’ll shed some light.”
As they walked into the monastery, Grayson gave her surroundings a cautious glance. Whether it was her newfound power or just her old police instincts, Grayson knew Phelan Tynan was indeed up to something.
Chapter 1
“Of course there must be lightning and thunder,” Phelan said as he peered through the tainted window of the limousine. “What a desolate place.”
Beside him, Ian laughed and quickly stopped when he received the glare from Phelan. His dark eyes bore into Ian, who immediately swallowed convulsively. “I could have left you back in Ireland, Ian. When we arrive at this hellhole, I want you to keep your mouth shut and give the appearance of some intelligence.”
Ian nodded. “Yes, Mr. Tynan. I was just thinking—”
Phelan looked up as if pleading for help. “What did I just say?” Phelan raised his hand. “Never mind. What were you thinking?” When Ian didn’t answer right away, Phelan glanced at him. Seeing the confused look, he laughed. “I’m serious, dear boy. You can tell me your thoughts.” He looked out the window once again. “Just don’t get used to it.”
“Yes, sir. I was just thinking this could be an advantageous meeting between you and this Nicholae fellow.”
Phelan never looked back at his employee when he spoke. “I’m sure this meeting will prove beneficial for us both.” He continued staring out at the rainy night. “It must.”
He raised an eyebrow when the stretch limo pulled onto the circular gravel drive and stopped in front of a mansion. Phelan hit the button that rolled down his window; he narrowed his eyes as a feeling of dread tore through him. “This place is evil,” he whispered with a grin. “I like it.”
Even in the darkness, Phelan could see Ian’s pale complexion. “Do get out and open the door, Ian.” For a moment, Ian didn’t move while he stared at the foreboding building. “Before the boogeyman gets you.”
Ian chuckled nervously and exited the limo. He opened the umbrella over Phelan’s head as he walked up the stone staircase.
Perched on either side of the front door, two torches flickered with the wind and rain. “These Romanians are so dramatic.”
Off in the distance, the baying of a wolf mingled with the wind. Phelan laughed openly. “Oh, please. Dracula must be right around the corner. Have these idiots stay in ancient Ireland. My father would have them screaming for their mothers within a week.”
Phelan saw the pure fright on Ian’s face as he tried to laugh along. “Ring the bell, Ian.”
In a moment, a young woman answered. Phelan regarded the pale-faced woman with dark eyes. She gave him and Ian a cautious look. “I’m here to see Nicholae. I’m Phelan Tynan. He’s expecting me.”
The woman stepped back to allow Phelan to enter the dark foyer. The dampness immediately hit him like a wall. It was dark and dreary; once again, flickering torches placed on the walls cast the only illumination. It reminded him of the Irish castles from centuries ago.
“If you’ll wait in this room,” she said and opened two double doors. “I’ll tell my lord you are here.”
“Yes, you do that.” Phelan continued to take in the surroundings. “My lord, what rubbish.”
“Must be the library,” Ian whispered behind him as the woman left.
Phelan glared at him. “What gave it away? All the books?” He walked over to the roaring fireplace to warm his hands. “Get me a drink.”
Ian quickly found the bar. “Do ya think they’ll mind?” he asked as he held up the whiskey decanter.
“Do you think I care?” Phelan asked absently.
Ian prepared the whiskey and handed it to Phelan but did not look him in the eye. Phelan had trained Ian well.
When the doors opened, Phelan looked up to see an elderly gentleman standing in the doorway. With his long white hair pulled back, Phelan saw the similarity between them. Though Phelan’s hair was also long, it was coal black, but worn in similar fashion. In this style, it allowed Phelan a perfect view of his face. He expected this man to be ancient, but he did not expect the pure evil emanating from his body. His dark eyes were like glass and his skin the color of alabaster, so transparent Phelan could see the veins running throughout his weathered face and neck.
Behind him was a gorgeous woman. Her flaxen hair fell around her shoulders in thick waves. She was dressed in black, a stark contrast to her white skin and ruby lips. Phelan realized he had been frowning when he looked into her eyes—they seemed to register nothing, like doll’s eyes. There was something odd or off about her, but make no mistake, Phelan thought, she is beautiful.
“Mr. Tynan?” the old man asked as he walked into the room. The blond woman followed.
“Yes. I assume you’re Nicholae.”
“Yes.” Nicholae said. Phelan held out his hand, which the woman took with a grin. “And this is Leigh.”
Phelan saw her razor sharp canine teeth. He glanced at Ian, who looked as though he was about to faint. “This,” Phelan said almost apologetically, “is my assistant, Ian Hennessy.”
He raised an eyebrow when Leigh sauntered up to poor Ian and grinned while she held out her hand. “How delightful,” Leigh said in a sultry voice.
Ian took her hand. “My pleasure.”
“Yes, it is, darling.”
Phelan laughed and gently pushed Ian aside; he stumbled over the ottoman and out of the way. Phelan stood in front of Leigh. “Phelan Tynan,” he said with a sweeping bow and looked up, “at your service.”
Leigh cocked her head in amusement and laughed, as well. “We shall see.”
“Are you all through?” Nicholae asked with an air of impatience. “Can we get down to business?”
Leigh pouted and walked away from Phelan; she sat on the edge of the desk and picked up a book.
“Ian,” Phelan said without taking his eyes off Leigh, “go sit someplace out of the way. The adults have to talk.”
Ian nodded and quickly sat in a far corner. Phelan heard the snicker from Leigh.
“Now tell me just how you think you can help me, Mr. Tynan,” Nicholae said.
Phelan heard the impatience in his voice and set the whiskey tumbler down.
Nicholae glared. “Help yourself.”
“We have a common purpose.”
“Which is?”
“I have someone I need destroyed, and I believe you have someone equally annoying,” Phelan said absently while examining his fingernails.
Leigh’s head shot up; she closed the book. “Sebastian.”
Phelan thought he heard regret in her voice. “Yes, I understand she’s a thorn in your vampire side.”
Nicholae said nothing as he watched Phelan.
“Who is it that you need destroyed?” Leigh asked.
“Grayson MacCarthaigh.” Phelan locked gazes with Leigh.
“Who is he and what is he doing that annoys you?”
“She has something that rightfully belongs to me,” Phelan said. “The annoying part? She’s breathing.”
Leigh laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, I adore this man. Nicholae feels the same about Sebastian. Now how can you help us and why should we be comrades?”
“Yes, good question.” Nicholae stood next to Leigh and folded his arms across his chest.
“I believe Sebastian is seeking the assistance of an Irish historian I know,” Phelan said. “And I know a great deal. Living for centuries has its rewards. Don’t you agree, Nick?”
Nicholae glared at him. Leigh hid her grin as her eyes grew wide with amusement and what Phelan thought might be fear.
As much as this ancient vampire did not intimidate Phelan, he was just that captivated by Leigh and her beauty. He watched her as she gave Nicholae a side glance, as if waiting for the storm. When Phelan saw his dark eyes turn blood red, it impressed him. When his fangs dropped dramatically, Phelan raised an eyebrow. He then clapped his hands in bored fashion.
Leigh now looked on in astonishment and slightly moved away from Nicholae. “I believe I shall sit with young Ian,” she said and scooted out of the way.
“Do not test me, mortal,” Nicholae said with a snarl.
“I am more than mortal, ancient one,” Phelan said evenly. “I have existed as you have for many, many centuries—”
“Practically eons,” Leigh interjected while she looked down at Ian. “Hello, darling.”
“I know what you are,” Phelan continued. “And I know your time is waning. I also know you want this Sebastian destroyed. She soon may be in league with Grayson. This cannot happen.”
“Who is this Grayson MacCarthaigh?” Nicholae continued to breathe heavily. With his fangs still dangerously protruding, he said, “And what will happen should they meet?”
“They’ve already met,” Phelan said with more impatience than he wanted to show; the thought of Grayson and that vampire had the anger welling inside him. He continued lightly, “I fear they may become bosom buddies in the near future. I cannot impress how dangerous that could be.”
“How can you stop this?”
Phelan shrugged and glanced back at Ian, who had the look of a deer caught in the headlights while Leigh, sitting on the arm of the couch, ran her fingers through his black hair. Her fangs gently nibbled at his ear as she whispered to him. Phelan grinned inwardly and wondered if poor Ian would survive the night. “Please do not kill Ian, my dear.”
Leigh looked up. “Is he your minion?” When Phelan nodded, Leigh pouted. “Nicholae, I need one.”
Phelan laughed and turned his attention back to Nicholae, who glared at Leigh. “Leigh, pay attention.”
In bored fashion, Leigh grudgingly left Ian and once again stood by Nicholae.
“Now, Mr. Tynan, again, how can you stop this possible alliance between Grayson and Sebastian?”
“Not to worry, Nick. But I will ask you for the time being to stay away from Ireland and let me handle this.”
Leigh pouted again, but Nicholae raised his hand. “I don’t know why I should trust you, Tynan. However, I will give you this time to see if you’re able to assist me.”
Phelan grinned and bowed. “Very gracious of you. This is the start of a good partnership.”
Leigh offered a wicked laugh. “I dare say you could be right.”
“Now I gave you something to assist you. I need it back,” Phelan said.
Nicholae nodded to Leigh, who walked around the desk and opened the drawer. Phelan watched as she produced the ancient athame wrapped in the linen cloth. Leigh handed it to Phelan with a grin. “Thank you. It brought me back from the dead again.”
“My pleasure.” Phelan examined the silver dagger. “It’s my hope to finish this with Grayson, once and for all.”
“And take Sebastian with her,” Nicholae said, still guarded.
Leigh leaned against the desk and swiped the blond wave from her face. “A mighty undertaking for one mortal or…immortal?”
Phelan bowed slightly. “Very perceptive, Leigh. May I call you Leigh?”
