Liar's Moon

by Kate Sweeney

  Leigh grinned and nodded. “Darling, I insist.”

  Nicholae interrupted their banter. “I’m trusting you—”

  “You don’t trust me any more than I trust you,” Phelan countered. “We are unlikely comrades you and I.”

  “Don’t forget me,” Leigh added.

  Phelan smiled. “How can one forget you?” He turned his attention back to Nicholae. “I have waited until the right time. The time is now. I have someone in place as we speak.” Phelan grinned, then laughed. “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter 2

  Emily Conroy stood behind the counter, folding the new material that just arrived from Dublin. She hoped these would sell quickly since the tourist season started in a month or so. Maybe then she could afford to take a vacation when the busy season was over. The gentle ringing of the bell above the door brought her back to reality.

  There stood a striking woman. With long brown hair, same color eyes, and olive skin, the woman looked Italian or perhaps Greek. And she looked completely lost as she glanced around the shop.

  “May I help ya?” Emily asked softly.

  The woman smiled and walked up to the counter. “Yes. I must have the attire befitting this time.”

  “Attire befitting…?” Emily asked and chuckled. It was then she noticed this woman’s wardrobe.

  “Yes, I feel these clothes are out of date.”

  “Well, yes, a bit,” Emily said. The woman looked as though she stepped out of the nineteenth century.

  “I was hasty in my selection.” The woman walked around and picked up an Aran sweater. “Is this common?”

  Emily raised an eyebrow and wondered where this woman came from. She had never seen her before, and Emily knew everyone in the village. “Yes, ma’am, it tis.” She watched as the woman picked up a pair of wool slacks; they were very expensive. The woman held them up to her waist and nodded. “I will need footwear.”

  “Foot—?” Emily stopped. She turned and picked up a pair of sturdy shoes, not very fashionable, and presented them to the woman. “How about these? I think they might be your size.”

  The woman studied her selection and nodded. Emily gave her a wary look. “Are you visiting Dungarin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do ya know anyone in the village?” Emily prodded as she added on the calculator.

  “Yes. Do you know Grayson MacCarthaigh?”

  Emily stopped and looked up. “You’re a friend of Grayson’s? Well, why didn’t ya say so?” She stuck out her hand and the woman took it. “What’s your name, love?”

  “Elinora,” she said with a smile.

  “That’s a lovely name. Now do ya want me to deliver these to Grayson’s? Or will ya want to wear them now?”

  “Now would be best, I believe.” Elinora looked down at her drab clothes.

  “I see. Sure enough. There’s a changing room right through there.”

  Elinora took the clothes, and Emily watched as Elinora closed the door behind her. When Emily looked back, she saw three women standing in the window beckoning Emily. She quickly walked out of the shop.

  “Who is that, Emily?”

  “Well, Mary, she’s a friend of Grayson’s,” Emily said.

  “Grayson?” another woman asked.

  Emily nodded and looked back through the shop window. “Yes, Therese. She gorgeous but a bit odd.”

  An elderly woman, who listened, peered through the window. “Where is she from?”

  Emily shrugged. “I don’t know. She just walked into my shop. I hear the suspicious tone, Rose. What are ya thinkin’?”

  Rose Barry continued to look in the window. “I’m thinkin’ this woman is more than just Grayson’s friend. Coming out of nowhere seems odd to me.”

  “You’re just overprotective of Grayson, Mrs. Barry, because you knew her mother, Maeve.”

  All four women blessed themselves quickly. Rose Barry took a deep breath. “I am protective of Grayson, and I did know her mother and her grandmother.”

  “Enough of your Irish superstitions now,” Emily said lightly. “I’ve got to get back. Now go away with ya. I don’t want you staring at the poor woman.”

  Mary and Therese agreed and walked away. Mrs. Barry pulled her shawl about her head and continued to look in the shop window. “Take great care here. We don’t know a thing about this woman. It’s as if she dropped right from the sky.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and kissed the old woman’s head. “Go on now, Rose.” She laughed as she walked back into her shop, just as Elinora walked out of the dressing room.

  “Well, ya look grand,” Emily said, then finished with the grand total. “Now how did ya want to pay for this?”

  Elinora raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t thought of that. You see, I had to leave and come here quickly to see Grayson.”

  Emily once again gave her a wary glance. “Well, I’ll tell ya what. Why don’t I hold this until you see Grayson?”

  “That would be best, thank you,” Elinora said. She then regarded Emily with a smile. “You have been very kind.”

  “Thank you. But if you’re a friend of Grayson’s, you’re probably a kind woman yourself.”

  Elinora cocked her head in disbelief but merely nodded. “I am sure we will meet again.” She walked out without another word.

  Emily quickly walked to the door and watched her walk down the cobblestone street and out of sight. “What an odd woman.”

  As Elinora walked out of town, she realized she was being watched. She stopped, noticing an elderly woman standing in the doorway at the edge of town. When she neared, Elinora stopped by the woman. “Good day, Mrs. Barry.”

  With her back stiffening, Rose said, “Good day yourself, miss. I understand you’re a friend of Grayson MacCarthaigh.”

  “Yes, but she will be surprised to see me.”

  “Not expecting you, I suppose?”

  “No, she is not.”

  “Hmm. A letter might have been a good idea or a phone call.”

  Elinora laughed. “Not where I come from. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Barry.”

  As she started down the street again, Rose reached out and held her arm. “How did you know my name?”

  Elinora looked at the hand on her arm; Rose slowly took it away. “You are a good friend to Grayson. You knew her mother, Maeve, and Deirdre, her grandmother. Being Grayson’s friend, why would I not know of you?” When Rose did not answer, Elinora continued, “We will meet again.” She then walked down the street and continued out of town.

  A half mile or so outside of Dungarin, the white thatched cottage came into view. From the description she had been given, Elinora immediately knew it was Grayson’s home. Three generations were born in this cottage, she was told. Each generation, each woman had the “knowing.”

  Elinora stopped about fifty yards away from the cottage. It had the appearance of being deserted, but it was in pristine condition, and she knew Grayson lived here now when not at St. Brigid’s Monastery. So far, all the information was correct.

  As she started up the dirt road, she saw no movement, no signs of life. By the time she stood at the front door and knocked, she knew no one would answer. She opened the door and walked in. Instantly, she felt a peaceful, calm feeling waft through her.

  “This will not be easy,” she whispered.

  She glanced around the room, noticing there was nothing out of the ordinary. However, she knew Grayson MacCarthaigh was anything but ordinary. An immortal, Elinora thought as she walked through the cottage. Two bedrooms, one small bathroom, one small kitchen. An immortal living in such a small space, she thought. That such power would be given to a mortal seemed very dangerous. Perhaps her information was incorrect. She picked up a book from the table and leafed through it; she set it down and looked through another. Elinora had a sense or feel of Grayson as she walked from room to room. Finally, she sat in the chair by the empty fireplace and put her head back.

  It was a long journey for her, and soon she drifted
off with the vision of Grayson MacCarthaigh and the thought of what she was expected to do.

  Chapter 3

  “Corky, I can’t look at another ritual. There’s just so much my brain can absorb.” Grayson ran her hand over her face in a tired fashion. She pushed the sleeves of the fisherman’s sweater up to her elbows and looked at Corky, who was not paying attention. Grayson smiled as she watched him.

  With his red head buried in the old book, Corky leafed through the parchment pages. “There are things you have to know, Grayson. We still haven’t figured out the powers the immortals bestowed on you. And the villagers are looking at you like some sort of goddess.”

  Grayson grumbled and folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to be immortal.” She breathed a heavy sigh. “Though I know there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “The old ones in the village understand. The younger ones, well, it’s just as well they think it’s all a myth and you’re just part of a noble Irish bloodline. It’s possible the younger generation might be looking for someone to lead them.” He continued to read from the old book. “We can’t bring attention to you anyway until all of this stuff with Phelan dies down.”

  He looked up then. “Your mother was well loved. It’s best if no one in the village finds out what happened to Maeve. And we have to keep in mind the old ones remember your grandmother, Deirdre. All the stories that had faded are now being retold because of your return to Ireland. It’s as if you’ve awakened something in this village.”

  Grayson snorted. “Like the prodigal daughter?”

  “No, Gray, more like the new hierarchy. First it was your grandmother, then Maeve, and now you. And I’m sure there were many, many more before all of you.”

  “I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do.” Grayson impatiently paced back and forth. “I mean, shit, Corky, in Chicago, I knew my job. I was a cop, and I knew the rules. They were defined, and I had order and now…” She stopped and ran her hands over her face in an irritated, almost helpless gesture. “I feel useless. At least Neala has a job.”

  Corky peered at Grayson over his wire-rimmed glasses. “We do have a job.”

  Grayson sighed and sat down, stretching her long legs out in front of her as she slunk farther in the high-back chair. She looked around the library of the monastery as she tried to get comfortable. “Remind me to talk to the sisters about this medieval furniture. I’ll talk to Sister Michael.”

  Corky laughed. “St. Brigid herself sat in that very chair. I doubt the nuns of this abbey will be changing the furniture anytime soon.”

  “I suppose,” Grayson said. “I’m hungry.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Let’s try it again.”

  Grayson groaned and grudgingly walked over to him. She looked down into his green eyes, filled with wonder and amazement. She looked at her left palm and ran her fingers over the crescent-shaped birthmark. “I still don’t know why I’m the chosen one,” she whispered. “I wish my mother didn’t have to die to prove it.” When she looked back at Corky, his eyes now filled with sadness.

  “I loved Maeve. She was part of the prophecy and she understood her role. You were destined. So was Maeve. She loved you.”

  Grayson smiled and placed her left hand on his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  Corky took a deep breath and did as Grayson asked. The tingling sensation started in her palm again as the visions started. She felt Corky’s body trembling and could feel the blood race through his veins. She saw Corky as a young boy, playing in a field with a dark-haired girl. She saw him as a young adult, sitting at a desk with an older man standing behind him with his hand on Corky’s shoulder. Visions flew through her mind, so fast she could not keep up. Finally, she pulled her hand away from Corky’s shoulder and staggered back.

  Corky trembled, slumped forward, and opened his eyes. Grayson rubbed and scratched the birthmark on her left palm as she leaned against the desk. “What did ya see?” Corky asked with excitement.

  “Who’s the dark-haired girl you used to play with in the field?”

  Corky’s eye grew wide. “You saw Caitlin?” He sat back and shook his head. “I haven’t thought of her in years. I wonder why you saw her.”

  “I have no idea. I don’t have any control of the visions I see when I place my hand on someone. They just come.” She laughed and pushed at his shoulder. “Maybe you’re thinking about her more than you know.”

  He laughed nervously and adjusted his glasses.

  “Who was she?” Grayson asked.

  “A friend I grew up with. She and I dated for a long while. But,” he said with a shrug.

  Grayson regarded Corky with a fond smile. “Did you love her?”

  Corky stared out the window and nodded.

  “What happened?”

  “She grew tired of this.” He placed his hand on the old book. “I suppose I was obsessed with Irish history and its legends and myths. I felt at an early age they were more than legends, more than myths.” He looked at Grayson and laughed. “And I was proved right. I know your prophecy was more than an Irish story. And look at what’s happened in such a short time.”

  “And look what you’ve missed,” Grayson gently prodded. “Do you know where she is?”

  “We separated after we graduated from Trinity College. She was a journalist, started with a local paper, now works for the Irish Times. At least I believe she does.” He laughed and scratched his head. “I have no idea why ya saw Caitlin Delaney.”

  “I don’t know, either,” Grayson admitted. “But so far, all these things are connected.”

  Corky’s head shot up; his face turned as red as his hair. “You don’t think I’ll be seeing her again?”

  “You’re asking me?” Grayson threw her arms up. “I have no idea what the hell is going on with this immortal thing.”

  “Well, let’s get off this topic. What else did you see?”

  “An older man standing behind you while you labored over a book like this one.” Grayson pointed to the heavy old book.

  “My God,” Corky said. “That was my father. I was only sixteen when he gave me this book. He told me it was time I started in the family business. I thought the Kerrigan business was Irish history.”

  “It’s much more than that,” Grayson said. She ran her fingers over the leather-bound book. “So much more. I still can’t believe I’m in that book.”

  Corky nodded. “I know. It was amazing how we figured out that prophecy and what happened to you under the residual moon that night.” He fondly ran his hand over the book. “There is so much history, so much myth and legend in here. It will take a lifetime to decipher.” He looked up at Grayson. “Can you still read my mind, as well?”

  Grayson nodded. “At times. I supposed if I hone this…” She stopped and tapped her fingertip on her temple, “…gift, I would be able to control it. It comes and goes.” She walked over to the fireplace and stared at the glowing bars of peat. “I-I didn’t tell you this…”

  “What?” He turned around to face her. Grayson continued to gaze at the fire. Corky waited.

  “Remember a few weeks ago when we met Sebastian?” She looked back at Corky, who nodded. “I could read her mind. It was quick, nothing major. But…but I think I could control that. We exchanged just a couple thoughts, but it was like a conversation.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Corky exclaimed. “You know what this means? If you concentrate and practice, I’ll wager you will perfect your gifts. And that can only prove to help you. Because, though he’s been quiet, we still have Phelan Tynan to contend with.” He swiveled in his chair and looked out the window.

  Grayson walked to the big window where Corky stood and looked out at the foggy morning. The memories of the previous months ripped through her mind—Phelan Tynan killing her mother and how they buried her on the sacred soil of this abbey. Watching him morph into a wolf, then back again, only to disappear out of sight. She knew he would never rest until he got what he
wanted.

  She looked at her left palm again. And what Phelan Tynan wanted was Grayson destroyed. For some reason, she was destined to be the true descendant, the one who would bring the glory back to Ireland—to be the keeper of all the power and keep it out of Phelan Tynan’s hands. When the ancient ones gave her these “gifts,” her life as a Chicago detective was gone for good. This was her life now, whether she wanted it or not. When Danu, the goddess of them all, took Grayson’s hand, she set all this in motion with her words, “you are human and goddess, mortal and immortal.” Grayson had spent sleepless nights since worrying, wondering why it was she they chose. It was her destiny, she thought. We all have a destiny.

  “I wish I could read your mind right now.”

  Corky’s voice broke her from her thoughts; she turned to him with sad eyes. “No, Cork,” she looked out the window once again, “you really don’t.”

  “Okay, then try to move something,” Corky said with enthusiasm.

  Grayson have him a disturbed look. “What?”

  “Ya know. Move something like…” He looked around and put his pen on the edge of the desk. “Move it. With your mind.”

  Grayson shook her head. “This is so stupid.” She took a deep breath and concentrated on the pen. After a few minutes, it didn’t budge. “This is not working.”

  Corky scratched his head, then snapped his fingers. “Use your left hand. Your hand has to come in contact with me to read my mind, maybe you have to show your hand. Try it.”

  “Christ.” She raised her hand in the direction of the pen. The tingling sensation started in her fingers and shot up her arm. “Oh, shit,” she whispered.

  In the next instant, not only the pen, but the stapler, as well, flew off the table and past Grayson, hitting the wall behind her before bouncing out the open window. Grayson winced when she heard the stapler break against the stone walk below.

  Corky was stunned. “I hope it didn’t hit anyone.”

  They both ran to the window. “Bugger,” Corky whispered when Sister Michael picked up the mangled stapler and broken pen. She looked up, searching the windows until she saw Corky.