by Kate Gellar
But his father had died a guardian, his mother a white witch, and both protecting the seal. The trinity had permitted their forbidden union on the basis that their magic was powerful together. But in the end, their combined power hadn’t been a match to ward off the demonic souls.
Sam owed it to his parents to try. He couldn’t walk away without good reason.
Tomorrow, Sam would gather the ten invitees and give them a tour of the house. For the remainder of their stay, the women would be assigned tasks. In exchange for their work, Liam, Brendan, Murphy, and Sam would each take turns giving the history majors a history lesson they wouldn’t forget.
A regular whorehouse. That’s what the more conservative locals who didn’t understand their world called the program. But it wasn’t like that. Liam, Brendan, Murphy, and Sam had sworn to protect this castle and the seal it was built upon. Only one woman mattered. Eventually the others would move elsewhere or go home. And the guardians could never make a move on any woman without her permission.
The invitees came from other countries. The condition was the women could never have lived in Ireland or know anything about Ireland’s magical side. It was how it had to be. The seal could influence anyone who had direct ties to the island to open it. That’s why they invited descendants only to stay here.
But of all the women who had stayed here in the past, none had formed a bond with their guardianship. Those with magical promise would leave the county, or gravitate toward another castle in Ireland. That was how powerful the girls’ magic could be. They fit somewhere. One girl fit here with these four men.
Sam and the others couldn’t make the right woman choose. She alone must decide to enter a relationship with all of them. Without that, the bond could not form. Without the bond, the seal would break and release all the demonic souls trapped inside.
8
Abby
Abby woke late Sunday morning after a few hours sleep. The bed wasn’t super comfortable, but due to her jetlag her body had lapsed into a temporary coma. She leaned over the edge of the bed and saw a note had been slipped under her door.
The floor chilled her feet. She had barely unpacked anything before taking a nap, so her slippers were still in her bag. She dug them and her dressing gown out, and put both on to stave off the cold.
Volcanic rock, my ass. She rubbed her skin to fight off the chilly air. Was this really summer in Ireland?
She picked up the note, or rather a rough schedule of classes for the next three months, off the floor. Each week, there would be two 2-hour classes on the history of Ireland and a field trip to explore the local sites. For the rest of the time she would be doing chores. Details of what those were would be announced at a welcome meeting tomorrow morning.
Abby looked forward to the chores. From the online pictures she’d seen, the huge castle appeared to be set on a sprawling estate. She was sure there’d be plenty to occupy her time and mind.
She tossed the schedule onto the bed and checked her phone she’d plugged in to her travel adapter. The plugs in Ireland were enormous three pin things using 220 volts—double the voltage back home—and very sturdy. Not like the ones in the US.
No new messages. She’d expected at least a reply from Wendy. Paul wasn’t the fastest replier in the world.
The local time was noon, which made it 7 a.m. back home. Wendy probably wasn’t even up yet.
Abby caught sight of her hair in the mirror and swallowed back a yelp. Her eyes were less puffy from the little bit of sleep she got, but she still looked like an extra on the Walking Dead. Her toiletry bag sat on top of her clothes. She grabbed it and a white towel from the plain wooden chair by the door. Maybe a shower would help warm her up.
A strange energy surrounded her, like the air was thick inside her room. She shook off the feeling and opened the door. A resistance met her at the entrance and she pushed against it. Abby shot her hand out to steady herself against what was the weirdest feeling. Her skin made contact with the rune symbol on her door. She yelped and pulled her hand back from the scorching hot metal. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the barrier impeding her progress disappeared.
“What the—”
Abby popped out into the corridor and stared at the door, still ajar. She reached out to touch the symbol, but hesitated. Feeling stupid, she shook off her fear and made contact with it. She waited for the burn that she’d felt moments ago. But all she felt was cool metal.
“You’re losing it, Abby Brennan.”
Female voices intermixed with male drifted up the stairs to the first floor and set her on a new edge. She hated the beginning of events when everyone was still getting to know each other. The other invitees had a head start on her and, judging from the laughter, already sounded like they were friends. When she plucked up the courage to go downstairs and meet them, she would be the new girl.
Abby pushed that thought out of her mind and hugged her middle as she strode past the other four doors with rune—correction, Celtic—symbols on each of the doors. She passed by the top of the stairs and saw the bathroom to the right of it at the start of a new corridor with six more doors. The other bedrooms, she presumed. The staircase spiraled up to another floor.
The hinged bathroom door clicked softly behind her. She looked around the communal space, pleased to find it empty. The bathroom had an old-style freestanding bath by the frosted window. Three square sinks were set along one wall with mirrors above each one. At the end was a toilet surrounded by frosted glass partitions. Opposite it was a walk-in shower.
Very modern, given the age of this house. Abby prayed for hot water in this ancient construction. She went to lock the door but couldn’t find one. Then she saw a sign that read: This is a shared female bathroom. This room must be accessible at all times.
Abby never lived on campus and had her own bathroom at home. She wasn’t sure about this strange concept of communal bathrooms. Even while staying with Wendy, she’d managed to hit the showers before anyone else was up. She stripped to her underwear and a tank top and turned the dials on in the shower. Steam rose from the water. Thank God! She had a vision of her using a basin filled with hot water to wash in, like they used to in the old days.
With her lack of privacy forgotten, she stripped bare and stepped into the shower. A spark pinched the tips of her fingers as it traveled from the water to her skin. She yelped and jumped back from the spray.
“What the hell...?”
Abby drew her hand closer to the water. The spark jumped from the stream of water to her outstretched fingers again, except this time it didn’t hurt. Then the connection between her and the water dissipated like a small puff of air.
Abby shook her head and her hallucination away. She braved the potential for electrocution—the only explanation—and stuck her head under the hot water until it steamed her head and melted her jet lag away. Bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were attached to the wall, like in a hotel. Abby lathered up using the free body wash and used her own shampoo and soap to wash her hair and face.
Feeling more alive than before, she turned off the shower and grabbed the fluffy white towel that she’d brought from her room. As she stepped out, the bathroom door opened. She slipped back behind the protection of the frosted glass and peeked out. A girl in her early twenties with jet black hair and olive skin walked over to the sink and brushed her teeth.
Abby considered waiting for her to leave before emerging. Then the girl spoke with a mouth full of toothpaste. “Don’t be shy. No men allowed in ‘ere.”
Abby emerged, feeling stupid and vulnerable in just her white towel. She studied the girl with beautiful raven black hair hanging past her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes flicked to Abby through the mirror. Abby felt her cheeks redden.
They were such a beautiful clear blue. And was that an accent she detected? French, perhaps?
“I’m Sylvie. Sylvie AuClair. And you are?”
“Abby...Abby Brennan.” She gripped the towel tight
to her body.
Sylvie spat into the sink and rinsed out her mouth. Then she walked over to her. “Nice to meet you, Abby Brennan. Have you met the others?”
Abby shook her head, feeling like she was back in the communal bathroom in Wendy’s college when she rushed to finish before meeting the others.
Sylvie shrugged. “All women our age—early twenties. A little odd, but the guys are nice.” She leaned in. “And, fucking hot.”
Except Sylvie said it as fooking.
Abby pulled the towel up to her neck. “I’ve only met Sam.”
“Black hair. Got that sexy come hither look. Yeah, picked me up at the airport. Wait until you meet the others.”
De udders.
“Others?” Sam had mentioned the other trustees: Liam, Brendan, and Murphy.
“Three more. Together they run this place and this program.”
Abby didn’t know why her heart raced suddenly at the thought of being in this castle with four hot guys. Maybe her earlier jet lag and near electrocution had tempered her enthusiasm. Maybe the weird feeling in her room had reprogrammed her to think about men and to not ask questions about the symbol on her door.
She thought about mentioning the symbol on her door to Sylvie, but she’d only met her.
“You should act fast, though,” said Sylvie. “The other girls are making their moves.”
“Moves?” She shook the idea from her head. “I came here to do research for my dissertation. That’s all.”
Sylvie laughed and swept her hair over one shoulder. “I’m only joking. To be honest, all four hotties are on their best behavior. Two of the girls already tried it on with them and got nowhere. They probably all have girlfriends.”
“Trusting girlfriends.”
“Yeah.” Sylvie’s eyes assessed Abby’s face and body in a clinical way. She finished with a smile. “Well, I’ll let you get dressed. And don’t be shy ‘ere. Yesterday evening we had eight girls in various states of undress and all vying for the shower.”
“Thanks.”
Abby wasn’t shy about her body; she just didn’t like sharing.
She waited for Sylvie to leave before she toweled off, put on her dressing gown, and grabbed her stuff. Back in her room, she dressed in jeans and a long sleeve button down top, and applied no more than a little foundation to her face. So what if there were hot guys in the house?
She’d come here grieve—and to learn more about her parents’ Irish heritage—the Brennans and the Quinns.
Other than the few folklore stories her father had shared, he hadn’t spoken much about the Brennans from Ireland. And Paul was her only cousin on her mother’s side. Both Quinn siblings were children when they’d left Ireland for the US.
Her parents and her aunt were her only link to this land, and Abby knew about the time her father had returned to Ireland in his early twenties. It was where Frank and Ivy had met. Ivy Quinn had been on vacation in Ireland at the time to learn more about her side of the family. But both her parents had died, taking the past and their secrets with them. Secrets she hoped would shine a light on her aunt’s mysterious condition that was eerily similar to Ivy’s. If her mom was here, she’d probably have said the occult was to blame for her condition. She’d been very superstitious like that and was quick to blame bad luck on black cats crossing paths. But Abby had inherited her father’s practical side and had always shut down any conversation that leaned towards the supernatural.
No, her aunt’s condition could be explained away by medical data. Maybe a detail in the Quinn’s medical history or past would give the doctors a clue as to how to treat her. Maybe she could find a way to help Paul’s mom.
9
Abby
Abby’s heart thundered in her chest at the thought of meeting everyone. She’d pinned her curly red hair back in a low in a clip and pulled on a pair of black boots suitable for hiking in the countryside.
The sound of chatter drowned out her thumping heart as she moved closer to the room to the right of the front door. She walked inside the large space to find three large sofas and nine other invitees lounging on them. Some shared cell phone screens, others chatted without the aid of technology. Sitting among the girls was one of the hottest men she’d ever seen. He had messy brown hair and an easy smile. Beautiful brown eyes tracked her from the moment she entered. The silence from the others that followed her entry forced her hands deep into her pockets. Heat spread through her cheeks.
But instead of being the wallflower she’d always been at school, she attempted a little humor. “I guess I’m the last to join the party, huh?” Dozens of eyes watched her, mostly from the girls who appraised her. Not in a nasty way, but as if they were trying to figure her out. Or maybe they were still figuring this place out.
“Make room, Louise,” said Sylvie. The girl shoved up on the sofa and Sylvie patted the seat beside her.
Abby took two steps closer just as the man got to his feet and flashed a full wattage smile that made her private parts tingle. “Hi, I’m Liam. One of the trustees.”
In a house full of females, it wasn’t hard to work that out.
The man who looked to be around Sam’s age stuck his hand out. He had a cute accent, from Dublin she determined based on the radio shows she’d listened to, with a soft Irish lilt. His dimpled smile put her at ease. She grabbed his hand and gave it her best professional shake. Liam’s hand lingered in hers, while his gaze roamed her face. Feeling self-conscious, she withdrew her hand, but not before their connection delivered a tiny spark between them, similar to what she’d felt in the shower earlier. She ignored what had to be static electricity from the carpet and her shaking hands, and squeezed into the spot beside Sylvie.
Her gaze assessed the large room and the ceiling twice the height of her. “This place is stunning.”
Liam laughed. The brown eyes she tried to ignore drew her in once again.
“Funded entirely by the grants for these Summer and Winter programs. The arts council funds them because we’re listed as a historical property.”
She felt the other girls watching her.
“Uh, I know I’m late and you’ve probably discussed it already, but is this everyone?”
“This is it,” said Liam. His smile took her breath away. “Were you expecting others?”
“No, it’s just...we’re all female.” She only said what must have crossed the other girls’ minds. A women-only program run by four hot men, two of which she could confirm definite hotness? At least everyone was of legal age.
Liam laughed again, and jealousy stabbed at Abby’s heart when she caught the other girls gazing longingly at him.
Jealousy? Where did that come from? She’d barely met this man. She shook her head at the silliness of it.
“It’s how the program works out sometimes,” said Liam. “Last winter we had mostly men. We don’t discriminate here. Both genders are welcome.”
“Do the lessons begin tomorrow?” said Abby, feeling stupid for asking questions the others had probably already asked.
Liam nodded. “I was just telling the others about this room and the Alderdyce family before you walked in.”
How he said “walked in” in his soft Irish accent sent a shot of heat straight to her core. Everything sounded like a tease in his accent that differed to Sam’s, which had a more English slant to it, like he’d been educated at Oxford.
Abby leaned forward. Liam’s eyes grazed her cleavage for the briefest of moments before he looked away. Was he interested in her? She discounted that idea. The other girls were prettier than her. Her red hair wasn’t a novelty in Ireland. And that’s what guys did, stare at women’s breasts. It was an automatic response. But a tiny jolt of electricity supercharged the air between her and Liam that she couldn’t ignore.
She sat back and pressed her knees together just as a smiling Sylvie winked at her.
“This castle dates back to the thirteenth century to Lord and Lady Alderdyce,” said Liam. “Ireland was sti
ll under British rule at the time and castles popped up all over the place because of the defensive capabilities they offered the owners. There are seven other castles similar to this around the country that belong to the Alderdyce bloodline. Drumm castle is the oldest.”
Liam walked over to one wall and touched the bare stone. Abby admired his body, lean but with a hint of muscles, unlike Sam who was definitely more muscular. And strong. Sam had carried both her bags like they weighed nothing.
“The family used to entertain guests of similar standing to them. Guests traveled from the United Kingdom to dine here. The meetings that happened here were mostly to do with trade. On occasion they traded slaves for rare jewels. Many monks in this Catholic country of ours hid expensive artifacts out of fear the families might get their hands on them. But most valuable to the families was what the covens hid from them. This castle fell under the protection of a local coven half a century ago.”
“Witches?” One girl lifted both brows like she didn’t believe him.
Liam nodded. “Legend has it this castle sits on an ancient seal that is the only thing stopping demonic souls from re-entering this world.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes at Abby who stifled a laugh.
Liam looked unimpressed. “Laugh all you want, but you’ll see. The worst activity can be at night, when you’re fast asleep.”
Movement in the hall drew Abby’s eyes to the open door. Three men entered the room. The first, a six foot, dirty-blond haired man with pale blue eyes. His shoulder length hair was tied in a ponytail. He stood tall and looked like a freaking Abercrombie and Fitch model. Following him was a similar sized man with short brown hair darker than Liam’s and dark blue eyes. Abby thought she heard him growl. His unkempt style, leather jacket, and tattoos creeping up his neck and over his hands matched his rough persona.
