Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Grace O’Malley’s name was last seen on maps in the 1600s, written as Grany NiMaille. After that her first name went away, but the O’Maille surname remained, though it moved around and shared space with other prominent clans, particularly the MacMahons.

  I shielded the maps from Rory’s view.

  “What’cha got there? Somethin’ good, no doubt. Your squintin’ eyes betray you.” He leaned in to steal a peek.

  I pulled the book close.

  “Nothing. How about you?”

  His smirk mellowed and he said, “There’s actually some interesting stuff here.”

  He moved closer with his chair and opened the book for me to see.

  “Says here, about the O’Malley Clan… Grace O’Malley was a businesswoman. Held contracts and deeds. Was likely buried with them.”

  My eyes darted up and met his.

  He watched my every flinch.

  “I know.”

  I pulled my eyes away from his. They were too distracting.

  “I plan to find her final resting place. I just can’t seem to confirm its location anywhere.” I scanned the book piles.

  “Seriously? You’re unstoppable.” His eyebrows shot up. “Good luck with that though. People have been searchin’ for her grave for five hundred years.”

  “What about the MacMahons? What do you guys have, to prove your side of the dispute?”

  I cocked my head and smirked, like he had nothing.

  “We got Brehon Law.” He flashed a smug smile. “We got ancient tribal law on our side.”

  He lifted his eyebrows at me.

  I shook my head at him.

  “But what are you going to do about that? Come on. I told you something. You have to tell me something now,” I prodded.

  His twinkling, lighthearted gaze took a more serious shade of dark night blue.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said with a mellow tone, like poetry.

  My blush blazed under his stare and I fell into the deep blue abyss of his gentle eyes.

  “Shut up.” I looked back at my books. “You know what I meant.”

  “It’s true.” He held his gaze on me.

  “Rory! Stop messing with me. We have work to do.”

  I stood up and threw my empty cup into the trash.

  “It’s true.” His tone remained constant, his gaze unblinking.

  Speechless, I glanced at him sideways.

  He sat watching me, as if he were hoping for something. Waiting.

  I bit my bottom lip and looked anywhere but at him. I grabbed my computer and my bag and moved away from the table.

  “I’m gonna grab another coffee. Want one?” I asked.

  He nodded without breaking his lock on me.

  “Hopefully, you’ll regain your sanity by the time I get back,” I added.

  I forced my legs to carry me out of the library toward Smokey Joe’s.

  My brain was a scrambled mess.

  Rory was super-cute and fun but how could he play me so easily? How did he have that power? I should hate him. He was my enemy. Right? So why did I still have feelings for him?

  My breath filled my lungs for an eternity and I exhaled as I entered the campus coffee house.

  Smoky Joe’s was quiet, silently anticipating the return of the fall semester and all its coffee lovers. I perused the counter of limited goodies and grabbed two scones and ordered two coffees.

  As I waited, I looked around at the mostly vacant seats, half expecting to see Harry again—NUIG’s permanent fixture.

  Instead, in the corner, overlooking the Corrib River, I saw Paul’s unruly windblown hair and my heart skipped twenty beats. He radiated his famous “outdoorsman” look and my pining smile ran away with itself. His head was down in full concentration, studying papers and jotting notes.

  I balanced my items, scones in my elbow and coffees in my hands, and headed over to him. It felt like years since I’d seen him, though it was no more than a full day. His work had him under a deadline and he was buried in it, but that wouldn’t stop me from stealing a moment of bliss with him.

  Just one kiss.

  My desire to feel his warm lips on mine made me dizzy. Desperate, even.

  Rory had confused me again, raising my emotions, and my teeth clenched at his ability to do that to me. I’d have to fight harder to keep him within proper boundaries.

  My focus was clear though.

  And it was Paul.

  As I shimmied through the tables, envisioning his face as he would look up at me, I was cut off by another person making her way over to him with equal fervor. Her pace showed guided determination that stopped me short. My coffees sloshed as I jerked to a halt and some spilled out onto my boot.

  When I looked back up, I caught a glimpse of her intense, focused profile. Her pointed expression didn’t distract from her beauty and I crumpled under her superiority.

  It was Patricia.

  I slowed and redirected as if going somewhere else and then watched her. She touched his shoulder and sat with him.

  I knew it. How could I have been so naive?

  My head fell back and I stared at the ceiling. My legs began to buckle, threatening the wobbling coffees, as I dropped myself into a chair and watched them from afar. My shoulders slumped as my head retracted into the collar of my jacket.

  Her flawless smile and gracious animated features made me want to puke. She leaned in as she spoke to him and placed her hand on her chest every time she laughed at something he said. Probably not even funny. She was literally in full-blown flirt mode.

  My throat squeezed and I pushed a swallow down through it, to keep from being sick all over Smokey Joe’s.

  I pulled myself up with extreme effort as if glued to the chair. My limbs wobbled under me like an under-stuffed scarecrow, barely following my commands. I abandoned the coffees and scones on the table, hightailed it out of there, and flew off campus into the bustle of the city center where the air was finally breathable.

  ***

  “You at least have to tell him you’re going.” Declan’s tone was like a parent’s.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Michelle interjected. “He’s a dick and that’s all there is to it.”

  I cringed at her words, hoping for a magical explanation to it all, but my gut twisted and heaved, and I had to listen to it.

  “I need to go now, even without him knowing. So much for being busy with his work. He’s busy messing with her, so his loss.” I pouted.

  My rationalization was child-like, I was well aware, but going without even telling him was my best revenge.

  It was all I had.

  “Will you at least text him? Just so he knows what’s up,” Declan pressed. “It’s a safety issue.”

  I sighed for miles.

  “Fine. If that means we can get going.”

  I waited for Declan’s nod of approval.

  He grabbed the keys to his grandmother’s BMW.

  “Thanks. Let’s go,” he said.

  Michelle jumped up as if she were heading on vacation.

  I settled into the back seat as Michelle and Declan chatted and bickered about which playlist to select on Michelle’s phone.

  I typed.

  Me: Saw you with Patricia. Again.

  Send.

  Me: On my way to cemetery. Looking for sword.

  Send.

  There. I hoped Declan was happy.

  Nausea rose in my throat. The acid bile burned it.

  I waited for his dialogue dots to appear.

  Nothing.

  The sour taste in my mouth thickened and a foul shudder ran through me as I pictured Patricia manipulating him or worse, seducing him.

  The silence of my phone drove me crazy. I shut it off and chucked it onto the floor by my feet. I stared out the window at nothing.

  “Is this the turn? It’s the fork by the church.” Michelle twisted back to see why I wasn’t responding. “Maeve. We’re here. Is this it?”

  I blinked to clear my
vision and my menacing thoughts. They’d gone into some seriously dismal places, hollowing out my insides.

  We were in Claremorris, near the O’Malley boneyard.

  Already.

  “Yes, turn left. Then the next left.”

  My body stiffened with the thought of approaching the cemetery without Paul.

  What was I thinking? It wasn’t safe. But after hearing about Izzy’s visions, it wouldn’t be safe for Paul either.

  Hmm. Probably should have brought him, now that I thought about it. I huffed to myself.

  I reached for my phone at my feet and pressed it. No new text messages. I threw it down again, harder.

  “Slow down. The right-hand turn is coming up by those trees,” I said.

  My mind flashed with memories of my previous visits. All terrifying. Brown cloaks filled my mind and then the stench of Fergal crushed down on me.

  I watched my phone, waiting for it to light up. Praying for it to.

  The darkness at my feet confirmed its silence.

  Michelle turned back to me. “Is this it?”

  Declan slowed to a crawl as we approached the glen of spruce that hid the O’Malley cemetery from view—from time and all existence.

  “Yup. Stop here,” I said. “Over that low wall. The boneyard is in there.”

  “Don’t call it that,” Michelle whined. “That makes it creepy.”

  She hid her face in her elbow.

  “That’s what the locals call it,” I whispered as an afterthought.

  Michelle and Declan dug in their packs and checked their phones as I stepped toward the shrouded grounds of the graveyard.

  The stillness all around caused me to pause and check my surroundings. Mist and fog hovered around the perimeter and I pushed through it, stepping over the ancient stone wall, into the sanctuary of the hallowed ground.

  Each gravestone peeked out from the overgrown moss under the darkness of the overhanging spruce boughs and welcomed me. Their presence gave the sense of a family gathering as they seemed to awaken and respond to my arrival.

  My eyes came into focus in the low light and letters appeared on the stones and markers. The O’Malley name spoke out in unison from every gravestone, in every form of the historical name—O’Malley, O’Maille, NiMaille, Mailey.

  I surveyed the boundaries by the ancient trees, half-expecting a brown cloak to jump out at any moment. The silent stillness of the sacred space was reassuring.

  Toward the back was the burial mound where I’d once seen the image of Hugh DeLacy chained and struggling. It led my gaze to the area where Grace had dropped her sword last winter. It had fallen into the ivy as I stopped her from striking Paul with it. When she halted her attack and recognized him, the sword fell from her grasp and she crumpled to her knees. Paul was Hugh’s blood. And she realized it in that moment.

  But when Paul and I returned here a few weeks ago, Fergal was here. I prayed he hadn’t found it. And double-prayed he wouldn’t return.

  “This is so cool,” Michelle whispered. “It’s just like a horror movie. But no chainsaws or creepy wells. Thank god.”

  The unexpected sound of her voice sent my heart into my mouth.

  “You just scared the crap out of me,” I chuckled. “Don’t sneak up like that.”

  But her running commentary lightened my heavy mood.

  “Sorry. Declan, get over here.” She waved for him to hurry up.

  His sharp focus was intent on keeping watch. He kept his eyes on the area around us, half-expecting an attack from all sides. His army-green jacket and black Doc Martens added to his combat-ready stature.

  I let my breath out, for the first time since getting out of the car, and felt my shoulders drop by at least five inches.

  “It’s over here. In that ivy.” I pointed. “That’s where she dropped it. And where I tripped. All in that ivy.” I swirled my finger at the area where the confrontation went down.

  It must be somewhere near the low stone where I’d dropped the crucifix when I was trying to ward off her ghost, old-fashioned-movie-style. I chuckled at how ineffective my amateur move was and was happy to be able to laugh about it now.

  I dropped to my hands and knees and rooted in the ivy.

  “I saw the glint of light from right around here,” I said to Michelle and Declan.

  When Paul flew out of the cemetery with me last winter after the attack, I looked back and saw the glint of light. It had to still be there. It had to be.

  “I’ll get my flashlight. It might help reflect the light off the sword and back at us.” Declan turned and jogged to the car.

  Michelle watched him and brought her hands to her mouth, looking around from the corners of her eyes.

  “Um, I’ll wait right here. For him.” She stepped back toward the outer edge of the cemetery, taking long, exaggerated strides. “I feel like we’re doing exactly what people make fun of when watching horror movies. We’re the idiots!”

  I scrunched my eyebrows at her but then looked down, ashamed.

  She was right.

  I looked over my shoulder and then continued moving my fingers through the tangled ivy. Maybe the passing months and wet weather created more overgrowth, burying the sword. My hands wove into the depths of the vines. I crept and searched until my knees were black from dirt and wet from the damp.

  “It’s not here.” I looked up and realized I’d spoken to myself. “It’s gone.”

  Michelle was at the outer stone wall of the boneyard now, looking toward Declan and the car, waiting for the signal that it was time to leave.

  As I looked across the cemetery in slumped disappointment, my eyes were drawn to a bright flash of light at the top of the burial mound. My spine stiffened and my eyes widened in horror as I stared at a brown-cloaked figure in a wide stance holding the sword high above his head.

  I pushed myself to standing and stole several steps back, blinking away the possible hallucination.

  As I retreated, I caught the movement of another cloaked person at the tree line. My eyes traveled along the perimeter and saw cloak after cloak lining the edges of the cemetery.

  I scrambled backward, stumbling, and yelled to Michelle, “Run! They’re here!”

  I looked back to the one with the sword and he was in mid-air pounce as the others ran in response to his attack. They were all coming straight for me.

  The grotesque battle cry, gargled with phlegm, from the man with the sword couldn’t be mistaken. It was Fergal in all his heinous disgust. And he held Grace’s sword in his rancid hands. Anger seethed in me at the sight of the sword in his grip, but rising terror for my life beat it down and took over.

  I turned to run and saw Michelle and Declan’s wide-eyed horror take over their bodies. They bolted for the car like their lives depended on it.

  Instant regret poisoned my veins as I realized the danger I’d placed them in.

  “Run, Maeve! Don’t look back!” Michelle’s words blasted my thoughts to bits and shot fear through my soul as I flew after them.

  The war cry and aggressive snarls of the band of cloaked ones filled my ears and raised my terror to levels I couldn’t contain. My mind exploded into fragments as I took flight into mid-air. The ivy vines entwined my ankles and pulled me down in a slow-motion crash of hair, limbs, and swears, flying in all directions.

  The spongy ground welcomed me in its cradle and time slowed to molasses as I rolled through the wipeout. The wind picked up and blew fresh salty mist into my senses, returning balance to my mind and time to normal speed.

  The swirling gusts shot streams of black through the chaos, like dark bolts of lightening. I ran my hands through my hair in shock. The flashes of black light screeched toward the cloaked ones, knocking them off balance.

  It was her.

  She’d come to defend her sacred ground. Her sword.

  My finger buzzed as her ring sent electrified energy up my arm and into my heart. I looked back on my attackers and watched them battling the wind.
>
  At first, they lashed out at the swirls and black mist. As they punched at nothing, they spiraled in confusion and searched the squall for their unseen enemy.

  Fergal swung the sword into the bursts, striking at whatever he might connect with. The gusts struck him from all sides, knocking him about like a plaything. Squinting his eyes against the blasting assault, he snarled and sliced the sword into the thick mist in a clumsy figure-eight.

  I scrambled back toward the edge of the cemetery, listening to the uniform battle cry turn from aggressive attack to frantic pleas for help. Then blood-curdling screams.

  My hands flew to my ears to stop the horrifying sounds of terror and pain. The brown cloaks flapped and sailed on the wind along with their wails. Like tortured souls, they begged for it to stop, dropping to their knees, covering their heads. Some fell and writhed in the pain of the attack while others retreated, seeking shelter and escape.

  I searched for Fergal through the chaos, hoping the surge would make him drop the sword and writhe against her wrath. Gone from my sight—he’d abandoned his fellow outliers, maybe to suffer her vengeance on his own.

  I raced to the car and jumped in.

  Before my door was even closed, Declan gunned the engine and peeled out. I slammed the door and bounced around in my seat to look back behind us.

  Staring back at the sheltered O’Malley boneyard, once again silent and still, I was blinded by the bright flash of reflected light.

  Light from the sword of Gráinne Ní Mháille.

  My hand flew up to block the glare and I stared through the powerful beam.

  Fergal stood on the highest stone of the cemetery wall, his power stance wide as he held Grace’s sword high above his head, shaking it in victory.

  Victory over Gráinne.

  Victory over me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clare Island

  Michelle and Declan’s energized voices filled the car with fast-paced questions, angry accusations, and giddy retellings of what they saw. Their words ricocheted through the car and around my head like a flock of trapped swallows, but none of them reached me.

  My phone shook in my unsteady hands as I willed my fingers to hit the right letters.