Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  I eyeballed Michelle in judgment, for divulging our secret mission, but also for sounding as if she were teasing Moira. I mean, Moira was a ruse, I was sure. But my eyes darted to the floor at the same time, in surprise of myself. Was I falling for this crap?

  I interjected, “Well, not really awaken. Just to try to, ya know, to….”

  “Like I said, to awaken her spirit!” Michelle nodded and shot a sinister grin at me like she’d won something.

  Moira sent a quick nod to Michelle and skipped to the far side of the shop. She pulled off her fringed shawl and grabbed a North Face from her closet. Her flowing hippie skirt fell from her waist and hit the floor revealing tight black yoga pants underneath.

  “Can I come wit’ya? Please. I’ll be your conduit. I’m a medium, ya know. A clairvoyant. Sure, I’ve been dyin’ to make contact with her all me life.”

  Moira’s begging eyes jumped from Michelle’s to mine, back and forth, waiting for approval.

  I kept my eyes averted.

  “Seriously,” she continued. “I can communicate with the dead. They cross over from the other side and channel their energy through me. It’s a family gift. Or, okay, maybe a curse… but it pays the bills. Sure, can I come wit’cha? Please?”

  Michelle stared at me with wide, excited eyes, begging for me to say yes.

  My jaw clenched as my head shook at her, my lips pleading. “No fucking way.”

  “No charge. Really,” Moira continued to push. “Allowing me to tag along is enough payment. Really.”

  Arghhhh! My teeth nearly cracked from the pressure.

  Fine! She’d better turn out to be a true clairvoyant, even though all signals pointed to hokey palm-reader. But if she had any remote interest in Grace O’Malley, then I guess it made sense to take the risk. She’d better not let me down though. It’s not like we needed the extra company.

  And, sure, she already had her jacket on and was shutting off lights.

  “As long as we can grab some food first, then fine, whatever.” I said. “I’m starving.”

  “I knew you were about to say that!” Moira turned to me with bulging eyes.

  “Seriously?” Michelle stared at her in shock. Completely won over by her superpowers.

  “Just messin’!”

  And Moira poked Michelle in the ribs as she grabbed her trendy Orla Keily handbag from under the table and locked up shop.

  ***

  “The original owner of this car’s ridin’ with us now. Did you know him?” Moira reached her hands out on both sides and rubbed the back seat with fond affection.

  “Shut up!” Michelle gawked into the rearview mirror at Moira. “Seriously? Is he mad that I took it?”

  “Nah. He’s just happy to be cruising again with a buncha lovely ladies.” She tossed her head back with a laugh, as if sharing a drive with the owner on a fine Sunday afternoon.

  I held my tongue so it wouldn’t make enemies. Jury was still out on Moira. But so far, I was pretty sure she was a whack-job.

  Michelle took the turns a bit too fast, paying more attention to Moira than the road. My body leaned one way and then the other, struggling to stay upright.

  “Slow down, Michelle. I think it’s coming up.” My senses sharpened as we approached the final bend before Rockfleet.

  “Ooh, this is fantastic.” Moira bounced in the backseat. “Last time I was here, we held a séance. Sure, we were still in secondary school and had ourselves a stolen bottle of Jameson, but sure, was great craic.”

  “Are you serious? A séance?” Michelle’s eyes locked in the rearview mirror again. “Did anything strange happen?”

  I turned around fully, for the first time, to see Moira’s response.

  “Ya. Lotsa crazy shite.” Her eyes grew wide. “Candles blew out, and, and–” she paused in thought “–and, there were strange winds and yeah, it was crazy. Blame it on the Jamey.”

  I turned to Michelle with my lips pressed to one side.

  Who was this clown? And how did she finagle herself into our trip?

  I looked out my window, annoyed by the additional distraction and baggage. It felt a little like betrayal, actually, like I was exploiting Grace. My eyebrows squeezed together and my lips pressed white with regret.

  “Did the spirits speak to you, Moira?” Michelle asked, her face hanging in anticipation of more details.

  Did she seriously buy this crap? Oh my god. Two clowns.

  “Stop here, Michelle. Stop, stop, stop.” I pressed my hand into the air to get her to stop.

  The castle came into view and a sea of emotions washed over me. It stood exactly as it always was, dark and brooding. Solid and strong. Waiting.

  My breath sucked in.

  “Park here,” I said as my door flew open before the car was fully stopped.

  Paul’s tire marks scarred the gravelly dirt road from the last time we flew out of here. A shiver ran up my spine and into my fingertips as I remembered the voices… and then Paul’s cold response.

  A salty breeze blew in from the rising tide, as the sea made its twice-daily trip to the granite steps of the castle.

  “So do you feel anything? See anything?” Michelle asked, looking into my eyes for any clues of possession.

  Moira stared too.

  My face fell, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

  “What do you usually see?” Moira moved in closer for inspection of my reactions.

  “Castles and stuff,” I stated plainly.

  I hopped out and walked closer to Grace O’Malley’s stronghold, mostly to get away from Moira, but also in response to the steady draw I felt from it.

  Michelle leaned in and whispered to Moira, taking her arm like they were besties.

  “She’s kind of stalked by, you know, the pirate queen. She sees her in these weird visions. And Grace has, like, attacked her.” Michelle’s voice trailed off as she got lost in her own explanation. “It’s crazy.”

  I guessed it did look pretty weird for a newcomer and even for Michelle. I mean, how did you explain this to anyone without sounding like a complete freak?

  Moira ran to catch up to me.

  “Want me to contact her?” she said with raised eyebrows while reaching for my arm.

  “What?” I didn’t mean to sound offended, but my tone was sharp.

  “I’ll conjure her. You know, awaken her?”

  I looked at Michelle as she caught up behind Moira.

  Michelle blurted, “Yeah! Give it a try. It’s about time I met this lady.”

  My hand went to my forehead as I dropped my eyes in shame. This was already becoming a farce and protecting Grace from this circus was a priority.

  “Hey, you’re the one with the freaky visions,” Moira said, pulling her chin back. “You shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

  Michelle glared at me, like I was a party wrecker.

  “Sorry. I just don’t know what to believe anymore.” I pushed my lip into my teeth with a knuckle and bit.

  I was feeling strangely possessive of the pirate queen, like, whatever we had together was personal. Not for Michelle and Moira. But that felt dumb too. I mean, maybe Moira could actually help.

  We walked around to the front of the castle and stood at the base of the granite steps, looking up into the black abyss of the large, arched door. The heavy metal ring-pull hung on the wooden panels, waiting to be tugged. My hand reached out to touch it.

  “Wait!” Moira’s voice pierced my soul, making me jump. “I feel something.”

  She closed her eyes and waved her hands in front of herself, feeling the air or mystic vibrations of some sort. My cynicism returned and I looked out to sea as she continued.

  “There’s wind. And screams.” She moved her head as if picking up signals from all around us. “A smell of iron. Blood is in the air.”

  Michelle’s jaw hung open as she stared at Moira, absorbing her every word.

  Moira moved to the door and placed her hands on the dark, aged wood.

  “It
’s a warning. We shouldn’t be here.” Moira’s voice grew louder as Michelle’s eyes grew wider. “We’re unwelcome intruders.”

  The inlet of the sea deepened as the tide moved closer. Clare Island filled the horizon far out in the distance.

  “She’s coming.” Moira opened her eyes and shot a look of alarm at Michelle. “She’s coming!” Her voice rose as she attempted to get my attention back from the sea.

  The terror in Michelle’s bulging eyes made me crack up and I stifled my laugh with my fist. Giggles went straight through me and nearly made me pee.

  Moira’s hands flew up in the air as she began to wail and flap her arms.

  “She’s here!” she yelled, gyrating as if she were being electrocuted.

  Michelle froze, then began hopping from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do with herself. Her eyes darted around begging for safety, as a shattering crash smashed down on the rocks by our feet.

  Michelle and Moira grabbed each other and screamed in unison. They ran screaming and laughing across the road toward the sea. With hands on knees, they leaned panting, looking back at me.

  After cringing at the mangled mess of a clam in its broken shell, I turned to the sky and watched a seagull readying itself to swoop down for its smashed-open lunch.

  My eyes drooped half-closed in judgment as I glared at Michelle and Moira for their heightened antics. Moira really knocked this one out of the park.

  They grabbed each other’s arms and burst into nervous laughter.

  Michelle’s infamous snort shattered the picturesque landscape as she rambled, “Holy shit. You scared the crap out of me.”

  They walked to the water’s edge and Michelle squatted down and rinsed her sweaty hands in the water.

  Moira turned back to me and stared through squinted eyes, piercing through me. I pulled my gaze from hers, knowing she was full of crap, but still questioning her accurate account of Grace’s presence–the wind, screams, smell of iron in the air. I shook my head, rejecting the notion.

  Moira looked away from me then and bent down to collect bits of seashell as she joined Michelle’s laughter, shaking away the jitters.

  I turned back to the ominous black door, wondering what was inside for me. It was like it knew something and tempted me to enter. I bit my lip, questioning my next move. It would be crazy to go in. Like tempting fate.

  A rumble shook under my feet and the heavy door shook on its hinges.

  I looked back to Michelle and Moira who appeared unaffected. They were skipping stones into the lapping waves, proving to me that Moira’s antics were all a hoax. I huffed, embarrassed that I sort of fell for it.

  Another vibration shot my gaze back to the door. It was heaving and expanding in its Gothic stone archway. My feet stepped back, taking me away from what I knew was coming.

  A burst of energy from within? An assault of defense against the unknown intruder, me?

  The last time that door blasted open, the pirate queen came barreling out, intent on killing me like an enemy caught on private land.

  My heart accelerated, causing my breath to pant out of me. She hadn’t known it was me then. Once she recognized me, though, she knew not to hurt me. That was when she whispered, “We are one.”

  I looked back at the girls, then at the door again, considering my next move, though my mind was already made up.

  I was going in. And I was scared to death.

  If I bumped into the pirate queen, my immediate mission would be to get her to recognize me. That was clear. Then, maybe we would be able to communicate somehow—develop a plan or something. I would show her the ring, for starters.

  The door shook and loosened its seal, then opened a crack as if pushed by a steady force. Without looking back, I reached my fingers around the edge and pulled.

  Opened just enough for me to squeeze through, I shimmied inside and breathed in the centuries-old air as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  I pulled the door closed again to conceal my entrance. I didn’t want Michelle and Moira following me. This was sacred ground, in my mind, and the violation of their presence would ruin everything. I wish I had realized that before bringing them along. I balled my fists at my amateur move.

  Without hesitation, heart pounding, I climbed the ladder to the next floor, and the next, following my footsteps from my first visit last winter until I reached the spiral staircase that led to her chambers. With dizzying speed, I swirled up to the top floor of the stony fortress—Grace’s private space.

  Light filled the open room through the only large window in the entire towerhouse. I went to it and gazed out to the sea—the same view Grace O’Malley had when she ruled the trade routes and protected the territory of the O’Malley Clan.

  My breath hesitated as sharp tingles shot out of my fingers and toes—the kind that alert you when danger is near. I twisted around to survey the open space, expecting to be blasted by the sinister winds–or worse, to see her coming at me with her sword drawn.

  My plan was to hold direct eye contact with her until she recognized me. With her sword down, I would reach for my necklace and pull out the ring. I had no idea how she would react to the ring, but my hope was she would have a powerful response to it, as if it were a conduit to reunite her with Hugh, or something.

  It was already sounding too easy.

  The great room was empty, but my eyes continued to dart from wall to wall, searching for any sign of activity. I stepped forward, listening, smelling, testing all my senses.

  My skin picked up on it first.

  Starting as a delicate breeze, my arm hairs prickled in response to the movement. Then my ears twitched with sounds almost out of reach. I closed my eyes to focus on my other senses.

  My blood flowed through me like electrical impulses and coursed through every vein, concentrating its force in my brain. Then the smell. Musty at first, it grew into something more alive, damp and composting, laced with iron.

  My eyes sprung open.

  The room came alive with motion and activity, air swirling in every direction. I was knocked and shoved as the gusts grew stronger and I stumbled around the room. The force gained strength as it whirled into itself and pushed me farther. I hit against the wall and then staggered back to the middle of the room, searching the space for whatever or whoever was pushing against me.

  It must be her.

  My mind raced with the idea of her showing herself to me. I could hardly breathe, thinking about a possible confrontation.

  Another hit and I stumbled toward the window.

  Again and again it forced me closer to the wide opening. As I fell against the edge, I braced myself on the hard ledge of the sill and dizzying vertigo sent my vision blurry as I imagined plummeting four stories to the ground in a heap of broken mess.

  Terror rose in me as a gust pressed me farther and my hair blew out the opening, leading the way for my fall.

  This wasn’t how I’d planned it. Disposed of before having a chance to reveal my true identity to her.

  I dropped to my knees to escape the assault and crawled away from the window, eyes closed from the fury of the blasts.

  The gaping shelter of the enormous fireplace called out to me. The O’Malley crest in the top keystone was a clear beacon of safety. I pushed my way into the massive space, batting my flying hair out of my face, and scrunched against the back wall, panting.

  I pressed into the stonework, hoping to disappear in soot from centuries past. Peering back out into her chambers, I followed the swirling chaos of browns and blacks swiping at every wall and corner, searching, keeping me tucked deep in my spot.

  She was searching for me.

  Or worse, eagerly waiting for me to come back out.

  My eyes moved up along the jagged stonework of the interior of the chimney. Rough and unfinished, it led up to dull light that penetrated through a small opening at the top where the smoke of a fire would escape. Maybe if I could get a grip on each protruding stone, I could scale the
inside of the chimney and escape through the roof.

  My hands prodded along the jagged flue, searching for a hold, and I pulled myself up a few inches. I reached for the next piece of stone as my foot searched blindly for a hold. As I pressed my way up another few inches, my sweaty hands slid right off as my feet lost hold and I trailed down the wall landing with a thump back onto the fireplace floor. Shards of broken stone and mortar crumbled and hit down at my feet. Some bounced out of the hearth and into the room.

  I froze. Holding my breath with my eyes squeezed shut.

  My hands gripped the inner wall for stability, just above the fireplace opening and I willed them to melt right into the stonework with the rest of me.

  My fingers wiggled with a curiosity of their own and moved across a small metal door, jutting out from the masonry, like the size of a toaster oven door. My curiosity got the best of me as my focus shifted to the hidden compartment.

  My intellect told me it was an alcove for holding cleaning tools or hooks for hanging kettles, but my wild imagination told me it held secrets. Otherwise, it would be in a more obvious place.

  A metal ring dangled from the door. I reached for the rusted pull and gave it a yank. It stuck at first, eroded and crusted from time. One more quick pull with the weight of my body and it squeaked open.

  I squinted through the darkness into the nook but saw only black in its depth. Against the warnings of my inner voice screaming “mouse” or “spider,” I reached in and probed around searching for any trinket.

  Whatever could be hidden here would have remained hidden for hundreds of years. Maybe a lost relic of Grace’s plundering, or better, hidden treasure beyond compare.

  I blinked away the fantasy and continued to grope in the blackness of the hole.

  A blast of wind pulled my attention back out of the fireplace and into the room. Black gusts continued to swirl around, hunting. I pressed my shoulders into the back wall of the fireplace as I continue to reach farther into the darkness of the niche.

  My hand patted around and then my fingers ran over a round metal object tucked at the very back. I reached my hand around the cold tube and rolled it out. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as guilt washed over me. Like I was touching something that wasn’t mine or taking a step into unsafe territory.