Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  I dragged myself through my morning routine and left the safety of my flat for NUIG. The university library mocked me with its knowledge and information. Tempting me with tidbits yet holding the most important details just out of my reach.

  I was afraid.

  Brigid scared me. The voices at Rockfleet scared me. Not because they were odd or haunting, but because of their truths. I was next in line. Somehow, it worked its way down to me. If I traced the family tree closely enough, it would all lead directly to me. I had no doubt.

  But the tree had broken branches. Its inner rings represented years of struggle or years of prosper. I googled Grace O’Malley a million times and flipped through the big weathered book of Irish chieftains even more.

  The rightful chieftain to the O’Malley Clan seemed to fall into years of darkness and uncertainty in some centuries. Information of land treaties and deeds muddied the waters.

  I thought back to the historical meeting of Grace O’Malley and Queen Elizabeth I, remembered as the meeting of the Pirate Queen and the Virgin Queen. Queen Elizabeth granted Grace’s land in the west of Ireland back to her from Sir Bingham’s clutches. Grace defended her land valiantly her entire life. It was uncertain what became of it all after that.

  I slammed the heavy cover of the chieftain book shut. A dizzying amount of detail swam in my head, causing vertigo.

  I needed Paul.

  I needed his love and support. And I needed his expertise. He could help me sort through the historical accounts, the family tree, deeds, and treaties. But something spooked him. More than what he said. It was like he had a greater understanding of what the voices at the castle were saying but wouldn’t tell me. What could get to him worse than what we’d already been up against?

  I shoved my stuff into my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. The waft of dark roast tempted me toward Smokey Joe’s and I made a beeline for the coffee shop.

  ***

  My hands clutched the warm cup as I scanned the tables of the campus coffee shop for familiar faces. Most tables were empty, not surprising in summer, so I drew a bead straight to the cozy area overlooking the River Corrib.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Michelle.

  Girl where r u?

  Crap. I was supposed to meet Michelle at Griffin’s Bakery. I totally forgot.

  I scrambled to gather my things and saw him out of the corner of my eye. His slightly overgrown hair, his strong shoulders and stark white oxford, his attaché bag slung casually over his shoulder.

  It was Paul.

  My heart flipped and butterflies took full flight. I grabbed my pack and threw my coffee cup at the barrel, ready to race over to him.

  Then she turned the corner after him.

  Patricia.

  He ordered two coffees and they sat at a table by the exit.

  The blow left me breathless and heaving for oxygen. The punch to my face busted my nose and crushed my skull. I imploded. It took every ounce of energy to not fall on the floor in a puddle.

  I slunk my head as deep into my shoulders as it would go and headed for the exit.

  Please don’t look up. Please don’t look up. Please don’t look up.

  I passed his table with as much distance as possible and kept my eyes on the exit.

  Stealth.

  He was in conversation with her as I passed without notice. I picked my head up and just as I allowed myself to begin to fall apart, I heard my name.

  “Maeve. Hey, Maeve.”

  I turned back and across Smokey Joe’s. It was Harry. He had his hand up in a wave.

  I hadn’t seen him since I left last January. He was one of my closest friends at NUIG. My heart jumped from the sight of his smiling face, but just as I reached to wave back, Paul looked up. He saw Harry. Then he turned and saw me.

  His face fell and turned all shades of white.

  I spun on my heels and bolted.

  With my head down, I speed-walked right off campus, past the Cathedral, and into the city center.

  Harry must have still been standing in the same spot looking at the exit wondering if he’d seen a ghost. I’d explain later. Or maybe that wouldn’t be necessary. I’m sure he saw Paul there. And then Patricia. He wasn’t stupid.

  ***

  The warm, flaky scent of sausage rolls wafted along the cobblestone streets and led me straight into Griffin’s Bakery.

  “This is my third one.” Michelle looked up from her plate with a guilty smile. Flakes of pastry from her sausage roll clung to her lips. “It’s your fault, you know.”

  She licked her lip and enjoyed the buttery crumbs.

  I dropped down into my chair and collapsed into a pile of mush.

  “Give me a chance to catch up. It’s already looking like a four-sausage-roll morning for me.” I plopped my arms onto the table.

  “Okay. Spill.”

  A slow inhale pulled the last twenty-four hours together into a fairy tale, or ghostly legend rather, and I poured it over Michelle.

  Her jaw hit the table early on, around the “Brigid rant at St. Mary’s” part, and it never pulled up after that, until my final words and the “Patricia” part.

  Michelle smacked her lips a couple times, realigning her slackened jaw and took a slow sip of her coffee.

  “My head hurts.” She rubbed her temples and sat back in her chair surveying me in a new light.

  “Yeah, I know. Mine too.” I half-smiled. “And I’m tired.”

  She scratched her head. “What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea. My plan seemed so clear when I came back here. But it’s a total mess now.” I looked into my coffee. “I think I’m done. It’s too much.”

  Hopelessness carved out my inner strength and left me feeling broken and weak. I didn’t know if I had the strength to keep going any more. Alone.

  Everything had changed. Paul was my soul mate, I had thought. And that was a huge part of our journey to bringing Grace to a place of rest. Now, it seemed I was on my own.

  Michelle lifted her hand with her fingers up, flagging the attention of the girl at the counter.

  “Two more sausage rolls, please.” She leaned in to me. “You can’t stop now, Maeve. It’s not an option.”

  I fought the muscles in my face at first but the smile spread across anyway. Michelle was exactly what I needed— a reminder of my purpose.

  “Girl. Time to bring in the big guns,” she said. “I’m in.” She folded her arms on the table in resolve. “I might have been a little freaked out at first by your jacked-up sixth sense, but I’m ready now.” Her lips pressed to the side and she squirmed in her seat. “At least, I think I am. And you need me.” She sat up taller. “Take me on a ghost hunt! I’m your new partner!”

  Chapter Six

  Ghost Hunt

  “Where the hell did you get this?” I threw my body across the hood, in love.

  “It’s Declan’s grandmother’s or something. He made me take it.” She smirked. “I warned him though. My dyslexia is not gonna make a smooth transition to driving on the other side of the road.” Michelle swung the key ring around her finger with a smug expression. “He loves me.”

  “Oh my god. He’s the best!” I gushed.

  I always knew I loved Declan. Not only because he was with Michelle, but because he believed in my visions. His sister’s similar “awake dreams” gave us endless hours of conversation.

  And now, this car!

  It was by far the oldest BMW I’d ever seen. A 1972 1500. The true iconic classic. Boxy, with big square windows and straight lines along the body. Huge, thin steering wheel. Solid black exterior. But the best part—the vivid red interior!

  “I feel like Thelma and Louise meet 007!” I jumped, clapping my hands.

  “Get in.” Michelle threw my bags in the back seat. “And fasten your seatbelt!” She snorted a big guffaw. “If it even has any.”

  We flew up the N17 toward Newport in County Mayo. It had only been a week since I was last
there with Paul, at Rockfleet Castle. The whispering voices still lingered in my head.

  “So did you finally tell Paul you were coming here?” Michelle glanced at me and then swerved back into her lane after scraping the encroaching hedgerows.

  “Sort of.”

  She looked again, so I kept talking to keep her eyes on the road.

  “I mean, I told him I was going back. He freaked and made me promise not to. But he’s been keeping his distance from the whole thing right now. Thinks it’s too dangerous. And I’m still basically pissed about it. Seriously, he can’t just pull away like that. I don’t care if he’s scared. And the whole Patricia thing.” I huffed. “Like, that was a little coincidental, no? Her being at the college to see him. Right when he decides to back away from all this. Whatever.”

  My lips pursed to the side and I looked out my window.

  “We’re just trying not to talk too much about any of it right now. It’s touchy, I guess. He just seems… scared.”

  I couldn’t help feeling angry. His cautious distance made all my insecurities resurface and they choked me. Being alone in the world while fighting a family curse, well, that was enough to raise trust issues in anyone. And that made it even worse. If I couldn’t trust Paul one hundred percent, then I had nothing.

  I tried to keep perspective. He was with Patricia for years and their families were friends, so I really shouldn’t go crazy about this. But I couldn’t help it. She had too much power to win him back and I’d be left with nothing.

  I rubbed my eyes, hazy from lack of sleep, and sat up taller. Maybe this was another thing I had to fight for. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to come easy.

  “Well, diversion is usually an effective way to cope with fear. Basically, avoiding it. Well done.” Michelle jabbed at my ribs and flashed a comforting grin. “This will give you a chance to breathe. You know. Like, take some space on your own, to see what this curse thing is all about.”

  Michelle pulled into an open spot in Westport.

  “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before we hit the legendary Rockfleet Castle.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me with exaggerated intrigue.

  The big clock tower in the town center stood proudly, welcoming me back since my last visit to Westport—the time when Paul had followed me, trying to be a part of my adventure while keeping a cautious distance as my college professor.

  My lips pursed to the side to push down the sadness that rose from the sweet memory. I still believed we were connected, beyond this world even, but couldn’t stop the worry. He was the only person on this earth with the power to refill my empty soul and make me whole again.

  We passed the clock tower, following the smell of seafood chowder and brown bread, scouting for the perfect pub. The main road narrowed and we turned down a lost lonely lane at the far end of town.

  “This place is amazing. All of it. It’s never like this back home.” Michelle spoke to the shops and cobblestone pavers. “Here, there are surprises around every corner. Pubs, shops, ghosts! I love it!”

  She reached her hand out as if to feel every experience—the overflowing flower boxes, colorful hand-painted signs, and then, the most intriguing hue of purple filled my every sense.

  A vibrant door squished between two storefronts was the gateway to the tiniest shop I’d ever seen. The hand-painted sign hung over the door from a scrolled metal bracket and read, Palm Reader.

  “Come on.” Michelle grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the door. “Let’s try it.”

  She pressed her hand against a plastic sign by the door with a picture of an enlarged palm marking the “Zones of Palmistry.”

  “No way. That’s a waste of money.” I rolled my eyes at her, hearing my grandmother’s words escape my lips, followed by a perfectly timed clipping from Dear Abby.

  But I couldn’t help notice the cool crystals through the small window—a huge salt rock, lit from within cast an ethereal orange glow, and quartz crystals with magical purple hues seeping along the edges.

  A vintage plaque at the back of the crystal display read:

  PALMIST and CLAIRVOYANT

  Tells Past, Present and Future

  Love, Luck, Courtship, and Marriage

  Don’t Fail to Consult Me

  “Let’s at least have a look,” Michelle said, pushing the door open before finishing her sentence.

  My face contorted in horror as our presence was announced by jingling bells on the door.

  “No turning back now.” She giggled.

  The smell of incense overpowered me as we wafted through the patchouli. A young woman, more like a flower child, moved languidly from the back room through a beaded curtain as her long skirt flowed behind in her graceful movement. Her tasseled headpiece reminded me of something I donned for Halloween once, when I was Cleopatra.

  I chuckled through my nose and Michelle swatted my hand with a hiss.

  “I am Moira of Fire and Water.” Her breathy voice added ambiance to her spiritual persona.

  Rhythmic chimes filled the air as she swayed her arms to the lulling sound. She reached for Michelle’s hand and studied it through half-opened eyes. She pulled Michelle’s palm right up to her nose, as if for a closer look, and pulled back in exaggerated surprise. Her arm flew in a large arc, fingers splayed, as if she were about to address the universe.

  “Your fate is in your hands.” Her mystical tone trailed off into the chimes.

  She glanced at me and then back at Michelle. Her finger traced the lines in Michelle’s palm as she whispered nonsensical words and phrases that sounded like several people talking at once.

  “Your lines are strong. Intuition. Intelligence. Activity.” She spoke into Michelle’s face, violating her personal space beyond acceptable. Michelle nearly went cross-eyed trying to focus on her. “Your love line is active. You’ve found your match, no?”

  Michelle’s eyes widened and stared at me, like, Oh my god. She’s amazing!

  Moira turned to me with a snap of her head, shocking the judgmental expression off my face.

  “Would you like a sample reading?” She looked me up and down.

  “No. Thank you.” My curt reply sent clear signals. Or, so I thought.

  Michelle hip-bumped me closer to Moira of Wind and Fire, or whatever.

  “Go on, Maeve. Don’t be a chicken,” Michelle pressured.

  “No, really. I’m all set.” I kept my hands close to my sides in tight balls, like I might catch something or become infected by this nonsense. “Really. Thanks. I’m good.” I moved my gaze to the crystals to avoid her penetrating stare. “We actually need to get going.”

  My pressed lips and stare down nudged Michelle with annoyance.

  Moira continued to examine me through squinted eyes and wrinkled nose. Her head tilted.

  “Please. One look at your palm. No commitment. Just a peek.” She held her hand open and waved her fingers at me, drawing my palm toward her.

  My eyes rolled up to the ceiling as I struggled to find the right words of refusal, but I gave her my palm anyway, just to make it stop. She caught it in an instant, without shame and pulled it close to her face, nuzzling it like a dog.

  Her eyes darted around every inch of my hand as if studying a treasure map. Then she slowed into intense focus and looked up into my eyes. She held my gaze for an extended amount of time and I didn’t know what to do, or where to look. I fidgeted under her intense scrutiny and considered bolting out the door.

  “Love. Sympathy. Grace.”

  She spoke in a rehearsed mystical tone.

  “You a time traveler?” Her eyes searched mine for answers.

  My eyes widened in surprise and blazed back into hers, unblinking.

  She kept hold of my hand as she tipped her head and looked deeper into my soul. Her other hand reached up and slid her Cleopatra headdress off her head and it dropped to the floor with an unceremonious splat.

  Without breaking my gaze, she continued.

  “You’ve come a long way.
Great distance. By ship. Over the sea.”

  I pulled my hand back with a gasp and reached for Michelle.

  “Obviously.” Michelle let her sarcasm fly. “A total Yank.” She rolled her eyes at me like I was a fool.

  “And over years,” Moira continued in a long drawl, attempting a quick recovery.

  She leaned in with curious eyes, studying me.

  “What are you searching for?” Her head dropped to the side again as she stared.

  “The pirate queeeeeen.” Michelle flapped her hands in the air for a ghostly effect.

  Moira sucked in air as she shot up straight.

  “You seek the pirate queen? Grace O’Malley?” Her tone lost all mysticism and flower child cadence as it punched back to reality with sharp focus.

  “Yes,” I said, pulling back my chin from the whiplash character change. “You know of her?”

  My defenses tightened. I wasn’t ready to share this journey with anyone else. Particularly if they were just going to get scared off and leave me again. But her sharpshooter response couldn’t be ignored. She was right on.

  Moira pushed her tarot cards and other craft pieces into a messy pile on the edge of her reading table and rushed to the back room, mumbling lists of items to herself. She returned with a small box of books and clippings.

  “Know of her? I’ve studied Granuaile all m’ life.” She huffed. “Growing up around here, ya didn’t really have a choice. But she’s always fascinated me, like to a higher level.”

  She glanced sideways at me and squinted one eye, for a clearer snapshot.

  Moira pulled her relics from the box and displayed her collection of Grace O’Malley history, one piece after another, barely touching them to preserve their delicate condition—news clippings, claims of ghost sightings, treks to find her final resting place, as well as rocks, feathers, and fabric. All tied in to her story of Grace somehow.

  I looked up from the collection with a gentle smirk, like, thanks, that’s cool, but then gazed out the window biting my nails, anxious to get going.

  “We’re on our way to Rockfleet Castle,” Michelle interrupted. “To try to awaken her spirit.” Her smile spread for miles.