Scintillate

by Tracy Clark

  “Is that the ocean I hear?” I asked as we stepped out of the car onto a pea-gravel driveway. I hadn’t realized we were so close to the coast.

  “It is,” Finn said. “I was born with sea air in my lungs and salt in my hair.” He pointed to an old stone tower looming above us. “That was once a lighthouse.”

  We walked up the massive steps to the main house that splayed out like an open hand and through the wooden double doors. Finn set my bag at the foot of the staircase and pulled me forward. “C’mon. I want to show you around.”

  “Don’t be long,” Ina warned after she greeted us icily in the foyer. “We’ll have dessert in the library,” she added, casting a sideways look at me, “and get to know one another.”

  “I could get swallowed up in a house like this,” I told Finn as he led me from room to room, through doorways and long corridors. “How many people live here?”

  “Just my folks and me,” Finn said. “Uncle Clancy lives in the old stable house on the far end of the property.”

  “Seems like a lot of house for three people.”

  “Aye, but you can be alone even when everyone’s home,” he said with a wink, pulling me into a hug behind a tall bureau.

  “You never mentioned all this.”

  “Not something you go crowing about, is it? It’s more than we need, aye. But my mother inherited it. The land has been in our family forever.”

  We took a dizzying route through the house, a blur of smooth polished wood, darkly spiritual paintings of angels and death. One particular black-and-white print arrested my attention. Two figures seemed to be standing upon the clouds, gazing heavenward at a swirling, spiraling mass of angels. “That’s beautiful,” I said, particularly entranced by the spiral design.

  “It’s a scene from Paradiso, from the Divine Comedy.” Like the couple in the painting, we stared upward at the ethereal art. “C’mon. You ready for the meet and greet?” Finn asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

  Personally, I could have skipped the whole “getting to know each other” session with his mom. Ina Doyle didn’t want to know me. Her mind was already made up.

  “I love this room,” I said when we walked into the library. It was moody in the best way. High walls covered in gray fabric wallpaper and polished black furniture with gray-and-black damask. Ebony bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The dark colors could have made the room dreary, but it wasn’t. It was heaven. A wide bank of windows overlooked the moonlit ocean. A fire blazed and crackled in the large fireplace.

  Finn’s mother’s bookshelves could have competed with Faye’s at Say Chi’s. Apparently Ina was interested in all manner of metaphysical topics: auras, occults, chakras, psychic phenomena. I desperately wished to kneel down and riffle through the pages. Judging by the number of New Age bookstores in the world, and the number of websites online, many people were interested in this stuff. Still, I was shocked by the coincidence. Who’d have thought Ina and I would have something like this in common?

  I picked up a book on auras and rested it in my hand while I paused to remember what Ina had said to me in the park. There’s something about you. At the time, I had taken it as an insult, a judgment of my appearance or some other deficiency. Now, I wondered if she could see more, and it unsettled me.

  Finn and I sat together on a gray velvet chaise. “So, what do your parents think about your coming alone to Ireland?” Ina asked, handing me a mug of tea and a tiny plate of shortbread.

  “I was born here,” I said. “This trip was, uh, long overdue.”

  She wasn’t satisfied. “But to come alone, at your age?”

  Finn shifted next to me. “I traveled to America alone.”

  “Regretfully, yes,” she said, smoothing her hair, which she’d pulled into a tight chignon. “Though you were somewhat looked after, Griffin could have done a much better job of it. Who is looking after Cora?”

  “I am.” We both said at the same time. I giggled. It was a weary giggle that threatened to turn into a fit of inappropriate hysterics. I pinched the flesh next to my thumb.

  “What do your parents do?” Ina asked.

  “My father is a scientist.”

  She nodded, eyebrows up, perhaps impressed. “And your mother?”

  “She is…was…researching…” I took a deep breath and blew it out while she looked at me expectantly. “My mom’s been out of my life for a long time.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Ina said. The smallest hint of a rose amid her thorns.

  “Cora’s exhausted, Mom. Can we interrogate her tomorrow?” Finn stood and helped me to my feet. “I’ll show her to her room.”

  Ina nodded curtly when I thanked her for letting me stay. Her stare pressed against my back as I left the library.

  My guest room was in the old lighthouse tower. “You’re not going to lock me up in the tall, tall tower and throw away the key, are you?” I said, craning my neck to look up at the spiral staircase curling into the soaring ceiling like the inside of a seashell.

  Finn kissed my fingertips. “If it’ll keep you from leaving, luv.”

  We climbed the many steps circling the tower. Every so often, there’d be a rectangular pane of window above a stone sill, upon which burned a small votive candle. It was a nice touch, and surprising that Ina would do that for my arrival. My hand ran across the bumpy stone as we ascended, around and around, until we reached a door so aged and weathered it looked like it had been scrubbed with sand and bleached by the sun. It creaked when Finn pushed it open.

  Broad, whitewashed beams arched across the ceiling. A stone-framed church window stood at one end with a circular pane above and three gothic points below. The walls were painted a calming shade of lavender, and a large white bed rested under the open window, where billowy grape-colored fabric rustled in the night breeze.

  “Okay,” I said with my hand over my mouth. “You can throw away the key.”

  “Want to know a secret?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “This is where I learned to play the guitar. Instead of doing my homework, I’d sneak up here where no one could hear me and teach myself to play.”

  “I love that. Want to know a secret?”

  “Give it to me.”

  “I’m scared I’ll find out nothing about what happened to my mother.”

  He nodded sympathetically.

  “And I’m scared I will.”

  “Sleep, críona. We’ll plan and plot in the morning.” I received a very gentlemanly but conflicted hug. Then he left me in the room alone.

  I washed my face in the little white basin next to the bed, slipped on my tank top and a pair of girly boxers Janelle had given me for Christmas, and climbed into the soft bed. It was weird to think Finn was somewhere in this sprawling house, maybe lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, too. Would he dare a visit with me in the night?

  Yeah. He would.

  That thought alone made it hard to fall asleep. But finally, I did.

  I dreamed. My mother called out to me from underwater, and I tried to shine the massive spotlight from the lighthouse down on the ocean to find her, but it wouldn’t budge. That dream reel switched to me running through a busy airport. The man with the white aura followed me. I kept trying to convince security he wanted to hurt me, but they didn’t believe me. I ran through the airport and lost him by walking among a crowd of Red Hat ladies.

  On the plane, a man sat down next to me, his tall body filling the space. He put his hand on my wrist. Laid it there, almost soothing. Heat swarmed over my skin. Instantly, the tugging started. An invisible knife lashed at my chest, opening it for my aura to be ripped from my body.

  The air was sucked out of the atmosphere. I gasped for breath, tried to lift my hand to cover myself like I had before, but he pressed my wrist down hard. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t move through the heavy air surrounding my numb body. I could do nothing but stare into his eyes and silently beg him not to kill me.

  M
y silver aura flashed in angry lightning strikes, objecting as it left my body to be swallowed up in his expanding white aura. My head fell back and somehow I screamed.

  I opened my eyes as his aura exploded in a blast of white.

  My depleted energy snapped back into my body. The shadow of Finn’s mother leaned over me, but my eyes still burned with the white flash of my dream, bathing her in its ghost.

  “You were screaming,” she whispered, with her hand on my wrist. “Bad dream?”

  I couldn’t nod or answer. Weighted down, limbs heavy.

  Ina’s fingers slipped from my skin, and she backed away. “Codladh sámh. Sleep well. I’m sorry.”

  Thirty-Two

  S

  omething tickled my face, and I bolted upright. The plum curtain lifted in the breeze from the window above my headboard. I squinted against the bright room. Unusually bright. The clock said it was past ten. I had slept way too late.

  My legs wobbled when I stood, like my muscles hadn’t caught up to the fact that we weren’t sleeping anymore. The awful dream revisited while I showered, the memory of it making me tremble. Had Ina actually been in my room, or was she part of the dream, too? I stood in the hot water an extra couple of minutes to erase the chill.

  I wound my way down the spiral stairs, listening for signs of life. A world of green rolled away from every window I passed. I followed the clatter of dishes and the warm, sweet scent of sugary pastries to the kitchen. Ina stood at the sink with her back to me. When I entered, she turned slowly, almost reluctantly, and met my eyes. Her brows furrowed, and she turned back to rinsing her teacup.

  I swallowed hard and slid a chair out at the table. “Good morning.”

  Ina glanced at the clock. “Travel sure does take it out of a person. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

  “I kinda am. I can make something—”

  “Nonsense. I’ve got some scones baking. You’re obviously fond of sweets.”

  Sucker punch. Well played.

  I gritted my teeth. “It sure smells good.” I watched her bustle around the kitchen, seemingly doing twenty things at once. My mind was obviously still on slo-mo.

  “Um, I was wondering if I might use your phone to make a quick call to my father.”

  “Of course,” she said, nicer than usual. “He’d want to know where you are and that you’re safe. Finn says you have some special inquiries you need to make while you’re here,” Ina said.

  “Yes. Is he here?”

  “I’m sorry, no. He waited but didn’t want to wake you. He had to go with his uncle to unload a shipment at the pub. He wanted me to tell you he’d be back after lunch. The phone’s right there,” she said, pointing to the counter next to her.

  I felt too shy to ask if I could use one in another room. I took a deep breath and dialed Mari’s number. Dun answered it on the first ring. The bizarre conversation-in-code went like this:

  Me: Hi, Dad!

  Dun in a scoldy voice: It’s about time you called us, young lady! You should have called sooner. So the eagle has landed?

  Me: Um, yes? I’m good. How are you?

  Dun: I’ve been better. Mari is giving me a makeover. We’re starting with a Brazilian wax. I’m in a compromised position right now.

  Background sound of Mari smacking him.

  Dun: Ow! Dammit.

  Me: How are things with you, Dad? Busy at work?

  Dun: Totally busy.

  Me: Okaaaay. So, I thought I’d better check in.

  Dun: Are you with McSexy? Has he showed you his big shillelagh?

  Me: I do love it here. It’s beautiful.

  Dun: Great. Don’t go getting into any wild shenanigans, you hear? Shenanigan is an Irish word, yeah? Hey, Mari, is shenanigan an Irish word?

  Me: How’s the weather there?

  Dun, in a serious hushed voice: We’ve been questioned. Your dad could totally work for the CIA. And your wee little grandmother is in a snit. I think Mami Tulke is making a voodoo doll of you. I’d give you a couple of days before he shows up.

  Me: Okay, thanks. Love you.

  Dun: We love you, too.

  I hung up with a knot of worry threading around my veins like a weed. In a shameless and defiant display of anxiety, I scarfed down two scones and a huge glass of orange juice. I didn’t want to, but I had to ask. “I had a bad dream I can’t shake. By any chance, were you in my room last night?”

  “I was,” Ina said with a thoroughly apologetic expression. She looked pained to admit it. “Forgive me,” she whispered, then sped away. I stood in the kitchen and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to understand why my hairs stood on end.

  Thirty-Three

  “T

  hat’s the second bit of surprise I’ve had today,” Finn said as he greeted me on the sprawling lawn of his property that afternoon.

  I’d been reading my mother’s notes on the cliff overlooking the ocean and trying to quell my impatience to leave. I detested that I was without transportation. Not that I knew where I’d go next, but Christ Church was definitely on my list. I tried to use the computer in Finn’s library, but it was password protected, and no one was home to ask. I took the opportunity to look through Ina’s books but found nothing on Scintilla or legends of people with silver auras.

  Later, I figured I’d go to an Internet café and research the historical significance of threes. I had found my mother’s journal but hadn’t needed the key to unlock it. So what was the key about and what was it trying to tell me? The only reference to a key was this entry in her notes:

  We have a name! Scintilla.

  It means “little spark.” What it means to me is there are, have been, others like me. It means I have a history, even if I don’t know what it is. It means…I’m not alone.

  South America was a gold mine. The spirals led me there. Seems that spirals have marked the depth of human history and the breadth of the entire world. What began as a foray into pre-Columbian artifacts featuring spirals, led to learning about Earth’s most energetically charged location, the Elqui Valley, in Chile. Earth’s magnetic center. It’s a magical place. I discovered so much there, so much about myself, and I discovered love sweet LOVE.

  An offhand comment about the Scintilla holding the “keys to heaven” has me pursuing another avenue…

  I snapped the book closed and laid it on my lap. “What surprise?” I asked Finn.

  “You’ll get to meet my da. He’s home.”

  “Oh?” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Great.” Another parent to loathe my presence.

  His brows rose. “He’ll adore you.”

  I changed the subject. “Did you tell your mother about me running away? The way she talked this morning, it was like she knew my dad would be worried about me.”

  Finn looked at me, startled. “I told her nothing. But it wouldn’t surprise me if my mother was two steps ahead. She always is. Could be that she assumes your dad worries abnormally about everything like she does.”

  I studied his profile. “You sure you said nothing?”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “I tell my mother as little as possible. It’s like giving fookin’ bombs to terrorists.” He winked and tossed a rock over the cliff’s edge.

  We walked in the house, hand in hand. I squeezed harder as we entered the large blue-and-white sitting room. It was like walking into the sky. Aged, painted clouds floated above us on the soaring ceiling. His parents were already there, seated in two high-backed chairs with a little table between them. Two crystal glasses of wine rested on a doily.

  Finn’s father jumped to his feet. His hip bumped the table and the wine wobbled and splashed a bit, leaving dots of red on the white lace. Ina settled the table with one hand. She didn’t get up but managed the barest hint of a smile at me.

  “Cora, my father, Fergus Doyle.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Doyle,” I said, extending my hand.

  “F-Fergus is fine,” he muttered. His hands shook a bit when he took mine betwee
n them. He looked at me like I was an apparition. A ball of energy rolled together in our pressed palms. Then the creepy sensation like someone pulling a vein out of the middle of my hand. I pulled away. “Welcome, Cora.”

  I felt a little dizzy and concerned that someone so unsettled was a doctor. I hoped he wasn’t a surgeon. “Thank you.”

  Fergus walked back to the chair next to Ina’s. I couldn’t see his face, but I could read hers. It said, What did I tell you? His aura flared erratically, shifting colors—red, seaweed, white, and yellow—like he didn’t know how he should feel.

  Finn clearly detected it, too. His skin creased hard above his nose as he watched his father slam his wine in one long gulp and refill his glass.

  “Sit down, won’t you?” Fergus said.

  “No, Pop. I think I may take Cora out for a bite.”

  “Nonsense,” Ina spat with a smile—a real skill. “Your da has just gotten home and wants to spend time with you. We have family coming for supper.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “But I’ll be getting a cab to town. I-I have some things to do there.”

  “We’d love for you to stay and join us,” Fergus said. His aura pulsated with more excitement than should be healthy. He was so different from his self-assured, easygoing son.

  “Sounds great,” I ventured. I hoped it didn’t drip with sarcasm the way it did in my head.

  Finn rubbed a small circle on my back, leaving a swirl of warmth. “You sure? I’d really enjoy it so much more with you here.”

  I looked at the clock and reasoned that it was already late afternoon anyway. By the time I got into Dublin, the church would be closed. Maybe I could use a computer here at the house after dinner. I sat down while Finn walked over to a cabinet and pulled out two more wineglasses. He poured the garnet liquid into both and handed me one.

  “Finn,” his mother called to him softly but laced with warning. “I don’t think that’s entirely—”