Scintillate

by Tracy Clark

  Finn and his uncle chatted back and forth, and it took my kiss-addled brain a few seconds to realize I had absolutely no idea what they were saying. When Finn caught me watching him, listening intently, he smiled and bent to kiss me again.

  “Were you speaking Gaelic?” I asked excitedly.

  This earned me a stern look from Finn. “We do not call it Gaelic,” he said in a serious, proud tone. “We speak Irish.”

  I nodded, contrite. “Noted. I want to hear more.”

  He leaned in. The hairs on my arm stood when his warm breath caressed my ear. He whispered the strange words slowly, seductively in my ear. It was beautiful. A language of old, salty winds and softly ringing, weathered bells. My brain didn’t know what he said to me, but my heart did.

  We left the intimate cocoon of the snug and joined the growing crowd in the pub’s main room. Finn led me to a table made of a glossy square of wood affixed to the top of an old barrel. We sat on little stools topped with woven leather. The fire warmed my cheeks, or maybe it was the cider. Next to us sat a group of men. Each held a different instrument—a banjo, a fiddle, a small accordion-type box, and a guitar. Finn grabbed a guitar from atop an ancient leather-covered piano and sat on the stool next to me.

  A young woman with braided hair sat alongside the men with a deep bass drum in front of her. She tapped her bare feet while she played. As the music got going, other people, women mostly, joined with flat drums, which Finn told me were called bodhráns. They brushed the drums with wooden sticks that resembled thick paintbrushes. Each beat thrummed deep in my chest like a pulse. I’d never view musicians the same way after seeing how their auras pulsed with the music as if their bodies were tuned to it. It was another moment of confirmation of something I’d always known subconsciously: music affected our energies. Music wove around us and asked our souls to dance.

  Finn accompanied on guitar while his uncle Clancy sang a slow song. Clancy had a beautiful voice, river deep, that carried and fell like water over mossy stones. As when Finn had sung, I choked up. The song was so full of melancholic emotion, almost like a call to ancient kin, and I instantly understood what Finn had meant about their music.

  The ghosts inside of me stirred.

  When the tempo picked up again, the entire room exploded with energy and colors. We all clapped along, whistled, and cheered. Two elderly women stood up and, with their palms touching, did a kicking sort of dance together around the room.

  “You so owe me a Riverdance!” I yelled to Finn over the music.

  One of the women bounced over to me with her palm up. I shot a questioning look at Finn, who indicated with a tilt of his head that I was being invited to dance with her. His grin was wide and teasing, probably anticipating my goofy version of an Irish jig. “It is wrong on so many levels that I have to do this before you,” I said. He just laughed.

  Inside my body, there lived a quiet me, a previous version of me, who desperately didn’t want to dance like this in front of a room full of people. But the newer version of me very much wanted to. Besides, how could I politely turn down an elderly lady, even if she was going to show me up on the dance floor?

  The crowd hooted when I pressed my palm to hers. I took a big breath and kicked my feet around in my best approximation of Irish dance. She smiled approvingly, raised one hand over her head, and tossed her silver hair. For a moment, I could see the other version of her: the one who was my age, having her first taste of cider; the one who danced all night and kissed a boy in the snug. She was still in there, shimmering with light.

  The music ended to raucous applause. I plopped down in an exhausted heap, having danced three songs in a row.

  “Well played, Cora,” Uncle Clancy said with a squeeze of my shoulder. “I’m so pleased you danced. Sibyl loves a new partner.”

  I was breathless. Happy. “Thank you. I actually had fun!”

  “Of course you did!” Clancy looked at me with kind, sincere eyes. “It was a sight to behold. You were positively glowing out there.”

  Uncle Clancy left the bar in the care of his employees and walked us a few blocks away to introduce me to what he swore would be the best beef stew I’d ever had in my life. Once we were seated and eating, he poked me in the arm and raised a caterpillar brow at me. “Well?”

  “You sure do know your stew.”

  He smiled so broadly it was as if he’d cooked it himself.

  “Thank you so much for your welcome tonight,” I said. “You’ve been really sweet.”

  “As opposed to my mother,” Finn added with a bit of throat-clearing.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Finn waved a hand. “No worries, Cora. She was a wretch to you. That’s just the truth of it.”

  Clancy took a swig of his Guinness. A spot of tawny froth remained on his mustache. “My sister give you a bit of a breezy welcome, did she?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to criticize Finn’s mother, even if she had made me feel like gum on her shoe. I kept my thoughts to myself. In my experience, the only people who are safely allowed to trash parents are their own offspring.

  Clancy patted my hand. “Oh now, child, that’s Ina, especially when it comes to her little prince here,” he said, motioning to Finn with a tilt of his head. “Don’t let her get to you. She puffs up and pecks like a goose, but she’s all fluff and feathers.”

  That wasn’t how I would’ve characterized Ina Doyle. She was regal, queenly, with sharp and efficient mannerisms that said she couldn’t afford to make a wasted move or speak a wasted word. Or waste her breath on a girl like me.

  “You’ll not take it personally, eh.” Clancy said it like a command. But she’d basically accused me of doing something to Finn. Of changing him.

  Finn scooped the last of his stew from the bowl and pushed it aside. He ran his hand down my arm, leaving a trail of warmth. “She said no dating. How was I supposed to know I’d meet someone so rare?”

  I choked on a bit of my water, and he patted my back.

  “Surely Ina could tell how special this one is,” Clancy said, pointing his fork in my direction. “I’m not surprised you were drawn to her.” He winked at Finn. “And fair play to you for luring her here.”

  We finished our dinner and walked outside into a light drizzle. Clancy kissed both my cheeks and handed Finn an umbrella. “I’ll be seeing you,” he promised and strode down the street in the direction of the pub.

  “Well, you’ve got Uncle Clancy charmed.”

  I sighed. “Why does it seem like we never parted?”

  “Maybe because we were never supposed to.” Finn leaned in to kiss me but stopped, leaving my willingness evident on my parted lips, which he touched lightly with one finger. “I’ve been beating the shite out of myself ever since I left you.”

  “Oh.” My lips hungered to kiss him, but I held eye contact and whispered, “Well, I’m here now.” Warmth heated in his eyes. “I’ll take over the beating.”

  He burst out laughing and kissed me. A deliciously wicked kiss with my head cradled in both of his hands. My fingers dug into the back of his neck. Having him in my arms, his mouth on mine, left me breathless and my body hungry. He wrapped both arms around my shoulders. “God, you do things to me, Cora. When I’m with you, I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.” Our eyes met. “I’m greedy,” he admitted, bending his head forward, speaking his words into his chest. “I thought I could walk away, but in my heart I never did. I’m with you now, and everything in me wants to hold on. I want to keep you with me. Possess you. Am I wrong for feeling that way?”

  I didn’t think so. It was the same for me. I wanted Finn to adore me so completely, he’d never say good-bye again. He’d forever be ruined for any other girl. I wanted to claim him right back. Did that make me wrong, too?

  We stood in the rain. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. I’d never regret coming to Ireland. No matter what disappointments the trip might hold regarding my mother, seeing him again was worth it. I’d fly across the world for
one kiss from Finn Doyle.

  Still, he wasn’t the reason I came, and I’d be doing myself and my mother a disservice if I didn’t honor that. “This has been so lovely,” I said, aching already. “But I have to go back to my room now. I’ve got this journal of my mother’s, and I was on my way to read it when I ran into you. The truth is I’m dying to read it. It’s like she’s waiting for me. She’s been waiting for me for twelve years.”

  Twenty-Eight

  F

  inn wanted to walk me back to my hostel, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we strolled. We came to a bridge over the river Liffey, and I got momentarily lost in the sight of it. I was in Ireland! Bronze seahorses reared under the bridge lampposts. The city lights glowed on the river’s flat, wide surface like gold wax dripping into the water. I gawked and swiveled my head, relishing the sights of Dublin at night, disbelieving that I was actually there.

  The journal in my bag waited like a bomb, ticking off the minutes. I was eager to get back to the small room, crawl into bed, and read it. Was it too much to hope that it might lead me to my mother?

  Faye’s words about people wanting to find someone like me played over and over in my mind. So did the strange man’s yearning eyes and haunting threats. His white aura had already hooked mine, and I never wanted to experience that again. I hoped the journal would tell me more about myself, tell me about people with white auras, maybe how to protect myself so I didn’t become one of the vanished.

  As soon as we crossed the bridge, something familiar caught my eye. “That’s the church where my parents were married.”

  “No shite?”

  “I recognize it from the postcard in my mother’s things. C’mon,” I said, slipping my hand from his. I started for the intersection. A horn blared. Finn reeled me back by my elbow.

  “Mind your step. You were looking the wrong way, luv. We drive on the opposite side of the road here.” We crossed the street and descended the stone steps leading to the front of Christ Church. A bush with bright yellow flowers glowed in the moonlight in front of the large Gothic structure.

  “This place is like something out of a storybook,” I said, craning my head to see the peaked roofs, medieval turrets, and arched windows of the ancient gray stone building.

  “It’s a grand old place,” Finn said. “One of the oldest buildings in Dublin, I reckon.”

  “I’ve got to see inside,” I said, pulling on the handles of the huge wooden door, overcome with the need to see the place where my parents vowed to love each other until death claimed them.

  The door didn’t budge. “Past hours, I’m sure. Tell you what, we’ll come back. I’ve got to work all day tomorrow. I tried to get out of it, but Clancy needs me to mind the pub while he looks into a new distillery.”

  “No problem. I’m a big girl. I can do a little sightseeing on my own. I briefly saw something in my mother’s notes about Newgrange. I still can’t believe I’ll get to see it with my own eyes. I’ve dreamed forever about going there.”

  “It’s impressive,” Finn said. “And not far from my house. No one knows for sure who built it. There’s much mystery and speculation about the place, makes me curious about your mum’s interest with it.”

  “She seemed to have a lot of interesting ideas.” I’d told him that she was researching something here in Ireland, that she was worried about me and my dad, that she disappeared, but I stopped short of the absolute truth.

  “Ideas such as?” he asked. “And are you saying she disappeared because of whatever she was researching?”

  I chewed on the tip of my thumb, trying to decide how to answer. “She thought she was on the verge of discovering something about humanity, something that would upset what we think we know about ourselves. Something that someone wanted to keep a secret.”

  His head jerked up. “That’s a mighty notion, all right.”

  “I know. What could be so important that she’d keep looking into it even if she knew she was in danger?”

  Finn blew out a big breath and wrapped his arm around my shoulder again. His apparent uneasiness fueled my own. “Makes me worried for you. She disappeared, luv. You said her parents did, too? That’s not a coincidence. Maybe her work is something you ought not to be poking around in. Maybe,” he said, gazing skyward and blowing out a big breath, “if it means your safety, then some secrets are better left buried.”

  “I have to poke around. I need to know what happened to her.” I found myself thinking of Giovanni losing both his parents as a young boy and wondered how old my mom was when her parents disappeared. “Who’d want to hurt my mom to hide whatever truth she was uncovering?”

  “Depends entirely on what that truth was. Conspiracies against knowledge…,” muttered Finn. “It’s ridiculous. I guess it’s easy to speak of keeping secrets buried forever when it’s you I’m worried about. Easier to think of someone anonymous, somewhere out there in the world, doing the uncovering.” He paused, deep in thought. “There’s something very brave about people like your mother and”—he touched my face—“like you, Cora. I mean, how can mankind evolve if we aren’t searchers of truth?”

  “My dad would actually like you right now if he heard you say that,” I teased. My aura flashed with infinite love toward him. He thought my mother was brave. He thought I was brave.

  Finn walked with a purposeful gait, his eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of him. I continued talking out my theories.

  “The world is full of powerful organizations, religions, that all need us to swallow their existing beliefs about humanity in order to keep their machines running. I don’t think they’d let go of that power lightly. Look at how the church threatened Galileo after he suggested that the sun, not the earth, was the center of our solar system.”

  Finn said nothing. I wondered if he’d even heard me. His aura, which was usually so generous, was reined in tight to his body. I slipped my hand over his on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Aye. Just thinking maybe the world would be a more beautiful place if we didn’t have so many secrets. If we could share the truth of who we are with each other.” He smiled apologetically.

  “You’ve got a beautiful soul, Finn Doyle.” I wished I could tell him how beautiful. His aura expanded around him a bit, puffing up with the compliment. But I noticed he still held a ball of quivering yellow in front of his solar plexus, and I wished I could peel back the layers and know what he protected. I laid my hand on his arm. “Really, Finn, is something wrong?”

  “Can’t you wait to go to Brú na Bóinne until I can go with you?” he asked, concern pursing his full lips into a thin line.

  “I don’t know how many days I’ll have before my dad comes looking for me. He could be on his way now. I don’t want to waste a day.”

  “Right, but be careful. At least let me pick you up after. I’ll be at the visitor center around five? We’ll get a bite?”

  “Deal. And don’t worry. I’ll be okay. It’s a big tourist attraction with lots of people, and I befriended a fellow traveler who wants to go, too. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Twenty-Nine

  I

  pored over my mother’s journal into the late hours of the night. I had suspected, but now knew that she was Scintilla. She confirmed it with her writings about “silver” and about seeing auras. We were the same, and she had felt just as alone in her differentness.

  Brú na Bóinne, or Newgrange, was mentioned numerous times. Excitement fluttered in my belly. No doubt the place was critical to my mother’s investigations. The words “Origin story” were written in bold letters on the back of a postcard of the triple spiral. What could she have meant by that?

  I thrilled at following a trail my own mother had blazed.

  When Giovanni came to meet me at my hostel with a rental car, he was still miffed at how I had left him at the park the night before. I had called him right away when I ran into Finn, so I didn’t get why he was still upset.

  His eyes crack
led with intense earnestness as he explained. “Finding another Scintilla was a miracle. Even a few moments of thinking I’d lost you was agony. I thought the worst. I’m not quite ready to face the world alone again.”

  I’d have told him that I understood more than he knew, but it wasn’t necessary. That was the thing with Giovanni—he knew. Neither of us wanted to go back to being the only one. Our shared understanding rapidly connected us in a unique bond.

  “I promise I won’t worry you like that again,” I said. To my surprise, he pulled me into a hug. The incredible whirling force of dynamic energy between us caused us both to step back. We exchanged awkward smiles. Hanging around another Scintilla was going to take some getting used to.

  The Brú na Bóinne Visitors Center was a very busy place. We parked the car and got the last two tickets for the next time slot on the bus that ran between the visitors center and the historic site. I was relieved to get the tickets. I had to see as much as I could before my dad arranged for a military-style SWAT shakedown of Ireland to find me.

  The photos of Newgrange I’d collected back home looked like big mounds of grass-covered dirt with some rocks around them, but in person they were enchanting. The very earth felt hallowed. Ancient energy rose up around me, grounding me in its history.

  We tromped up the path toward the largest burial mound, a giant grass-covered dome with intricately carved rocks around the base like a stone diadem. There were over a hundred of the large stones, called kerbstones, all engraved with ancient megalithic art of spirals, zigzags, and drawings. I was intrigued to learn that exactly three kerbstones were never found. That number again.

  Giovanni strolled ahead of me, taking pictures of the 5,000-year-old stones and touching them respectfully. I slipped around a corner to the steps that led up to the top of the largest mound, delighted to actually walk atop this ancient temple. I pulled out the red journal and turned to one of my mother’s entries about Newgrange. The paper fluttered lightly in the breeze.