The Cursing Stones Page 18

  Part of him realized how ridiculous it was talking to a load of bones and worms, but he was just drunk enough not to care.

  “Well, ye’ve got quite the legacy out here in the world,” he said as he pulled more weeds, and a few plants that probably weren’t. “Our sister, she’s just had your tenth great-grandchild. It’s a boy. How about that?”

  Gran, being dead, didn’t answer.

  “Sorry I’ve been away so long. It’s life, you know. Keeps you busy.” He smirked at the irony of that, then leaned in and added, “Them flowers, by the bye? Picked ’em myself. Didn’t buy ’em at the florist like some brothers I won’t mention.”

  Just then, a noise startled him. A faint creak. He shivered and looked down, as if the sound had come from Gran’s grave — as if she’d pushed the casket lid open beneath him and was even now tunneling through the dirt, coming to tell him just what she thought of his pathetic wildflowers compared to the roses.

  “Calm down,” Bryan murmured to himself, even as he stood and backed a step away. “Nothing to fear from the dead. Remember?”

  He only hoped the dead knew that.

  “Well, I’d best be going,” he said a little too loudly. “See you soon, Gran.”

  As he started to leave, his eye caught a riot of color back several rows, near the crypts. Flowers, stuffed animals and half-burnt candles surrounding a tall white pedestal with a stone-carved white angel perched on top. He winced and looked away. Knew exactly who was buried there.

  Elyssa Wharvey, the poor dear child. The one that druid woman had poisoned. His second cousin, actually. Just five years old when she passed, and such a heartbreak it’d been for the whole family.

  With a pang of guilt, he realized he’d never visited little Elyssa’s grave. Well, he’d rectify that now — and then he’d get the hell out of here. He never should’ve come at night.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Gran?” he said as he reached down and separated a few of the brightest flowers from the bouquet. “It’s for the little one.”

  Gran was still dead, so she didn’t mind.

  Bryan cleared his throat nervously and started for the sadly colorful grave. The sight of all those offerings nearly brought tears to his eyes, and as he knelt to place his own among them, he decided to do something better. Tomorrow, he’d swing by the florist and buy the biggest damned arrangement in the shop — and he’d like to see Dylan top that.

  He stood and crossed himself, bowed his head. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said in unsteady tones.

  Then he heard the sound again. Definitely a creak, and louder this time. It hadn’t come from his Gran’s grave. It came from one of the crypts — the big one, all black marble and blood red gems, with AISLINN carved in foot-high letters above the vault-like door.

  A door that was opening.

  The scream stuck in Bryan’s throat. He tried to run, but his feet refused to move. He could only stare at that slowly swinging door, and watch as something stepped through it.

  Someone. And not the shambling corpse of a long-dead Aislinn. Someone familiar.

  She caught sight of him immediately, and her eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them,” she hissed, and her voice was the stuff of nightmares. Layered and hollow, threaded with hate that chilled him to the core.

  “You,” he whispered. “You…”

  She moved outside fully, and something else slipped out from the crypt to stand at her side. At first he thought it was a ghost. But it wasn’t. He would’ve preferred a ghost to what it actually was — a bloody great wolf, white as snow, with some kind of symbol branded into its muzzle. Looked like a crooked S.

  “No. Please,” he moaned. “I’m sorry.”

  He’d no idea what he was sorry for, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  “You will be,” she said in that awful voice, and gestured.

  There was a sizzling sound, and pain flared through his forearm. He cried out, grabbed for it. And watched as the same mark on the wolf’s muzzle seared itself into his flesh.

  Before he could react, the wolf growled and lunged for his throat.

  Chapter 44

  Finlay Cabin – The Next Morning

  Lachlan Finlay wasn’t having any of Rain’s explanation about how she beat the black dog. In retrospect, she probably should’ve come to the cabin last night instead of leaving him to stew about it until the morning.

  But she’d been a little tired after slaying a cursed faerie dog that was trying to kill her.

  “Ye got the drop in it, did ye?” her father said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A Cú Sidhe. After just one day of lessons with Iona.”

  “Yes, I did.” He’d already pressed her for details, but she refused to give them. Because she was lying, actually, and if she tried to elaborate she’d catch herself up in it. But she’d promised Kieran, the not-ghost of the moors, that she wouldn’t tell anyone how he’d helped her, or that she’d seen him. It was a small price to pay for saving her life. “Oh, and here,” she said as she pulled the cursing stone from her pocket and set it on his work table. “It burned, just like the banshee. So the runes are smudged.”

  Lachlan sighed and scrubbed a hand down his broad face, looking from the stone to her. “Ye do know, Rhiannon Dawn, that I’ve always been able to tell when yer lyin’ to me.”

  “I’m not,” she lied. Technically, it was an omission. She really had killed the black dog — just not exactly the way she said.

  “Really not going to tell me, are ye?”

  Instead of answering, she got her phone out to change the subject. Maybe the thing she saw in the woods would distract him from lying daughters. “I think I found something,” she said, swiping to the photo she’d taken last night. “No idea what, but you’ll probably know.” She turned the phone toward him.

  His eyes widened, and he nearly choked. “Where did you see that?” he said hoarsely.

  Okay, that wasn’t a good reaction. “Out in the woods, by the ash grove,” she said. “Why? What is it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Don’t ye go near that thing again, girl. Understand?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dangerous.”

  “Fine, but what is it?”

  He glared at her. “Dangerous.”

  “Seriously, Da’?” she half-shouted. Even though she’d come to understand his intentions were to protect her, she’d had more than enough of being left in the dark about everything. And with things the way they’d been on the island lately, ignorance was no longer bliss. “You tell me what it is, right now,” she seethed. “Or I’ll … I’ll go straight out there and dance around in it! Naked!”

  His mouth fell open, and a dull red suffused his face. Then he coughed out a sound that was almost a laugh. “Yer mother used that very same threat on me once,” he said with a lingering half-smile. “Ye’ve got her spirit, my girl. No doubt on that.”

  Rain softened, just a little. Her father never talked about Regina, the mother she’d never known. She was oddly touched that he saw the resemblances she’d never be able to recognize. “So that means you’re going to tell me, then,” she said. “Right?”

  “Like a dog with a bone,” he sighed. “Aye, I’ll tell ye, for all the good it’ll do. It’s a faerie circle.”

  She throttled back the old instinct to dismiss what should’ve been nonsense. After all, she couldn’t very well insist that faeries weren’t real, when she’d almost been killed by a faerie dog not ten hours ago. “And that would be…?”

  “The source of all our troubles,” another voice said.

  Rain glanced up to find her Poppy standing at the hallway entrance on the other side of the living room. The man looked like he’d seen a ghost. “You mean that’s where all these monsters are coming from?” she said.

  “Aye. If it’s truly a faerie circle.” Her grandfather made his way across the room, his expression grim.

  “Course it is, Ewan,” her father snapped. “Think I don’t know
a faerie circle from a death patch?”

  “I’m sure ye do, son. But two heads’re better than one,” Poppy said almost absently. “Let’s see it, now.”

  Rain frowned slightly and showed him the phone. “What’s a death patch?”

  “Soured ground that marks the dying site of a restless, murdered spirit.”

  “Oh. That,” she said, as if she’d ever heard of such a thing.

  Poppy stared at the photo for a long time. “Aye. ‘Tis a faerie circle,” he said at last.

  “Well, can’t we just knock it down?” Rain said. “I mean, it’s just a bunch of stones. Kincaid and I can dig them out with a couple of shovels.”

  “The circles cannae be destroyed,” Poppy nearly whispered. “Lachlan, ye’ve got to decipher those runes. Before it’s too late.”

  “Think I don’t know that? I’m goin’ fast as I can.”

  “Too late for what?” Rain said.

  “Well, ye’d best figure out how to go faster!”

  Rain recoiled at her grandfather’s shout. She’d never heard him yell before — and he’d ignored her, another thing he never did. She expected her father to shout right back, and probably curse him for good measure.

  But the man surprised her when he got up, walked over and put a heavy hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “We’ll find who’s behind this, Pop,” he said gently. “Don’t ye worry none.”

  “Ach, lad, I’m sorry.” Poppy blinked rapidly, and Rain was shocked to notice the tears standing in his eyes. “I cannae bear the thought of … that what’s happened before.”

  “It won’t be happening again.”

  “Aye. Not with our Rhiannon.” Poppy flashed a tremulous smile. “I’d best go and compose myself,” he said.

  Lachlan nodded, and the older man shuffled from the room.

  Rain managed to curb her burning curiosity. Whatever that was about, now wasn’t the time to demand answers. It was time to take action. She did have an idea — one her father wouldn’t like, but he’d probably have to go along with it anyway. “Da’,” she said. “I know where we can get a cursing stone that isn’t smudged.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Ye’re about to put forth some hare-brained scheme or another, aren’t you?” he said. “Don’t tell me. It’s about that castle.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” she said. “I’ll only go to the castle if you can’t read them. But I can get a stone with legible runes on it.”

  “And where might this miracle stone be?”

  She managed a smile. “At the constabulary.”

  “Come again?”

  “Inspector Walsh,” she said. “He showed me the stone they fished out of Brody Barnes’ mouth, after the black dog killed him. It’s not burned. I’m guessing they have it stored wherever they keep evidence.”

  Lachlan raised an eyebrow. “So ye’ll break into the constabulary and steal it, then.”

  “Borrow it,” she said. “I’ll return it when we’re done.”

  Her father actually smiled. Sort of. “Never liked that Walsh, anyway,” he said. “All right. But ye’ll take Master Nolan with ye. Go tonight, and be quick about it.”

  “Wow. I didn’t think you’d actually agree.”

  “We don’t have another choice, do we?” he said gruffly, but the sort-of smile remained. “Best go about your day, now. Ye’ve got an apothecary to run.”

  “Thanks, Da’.”

  He nodded, and she waved as she headed out of the cabin, grinning in spite of herself. Kincaid was going to be thrilled that she’d just signed him up for breaking and entering at the police station.

  Chapter 45

  The Apothecary – Opening Time

  Rain was a few minutes late getting back to the shop, but she figured it didn’t really matter whether they opened on time. There was no great demand among the villagers for the services of the druids — not since half of them had tried to kill the previous shop owner.

  Not for the first time, Rain wondered what happened to Glynis Mulloy. She must’ve left the island after the business with the Wharvey girl. And Rain couldn’t blame her, but she did miss her friend.

  The apothecary was quiet. She’d seen Isobel, the ghost who haunted the shop, briefly when she left for her father’s cabin that morning, and Gavin had come in later than her last night, so he was still asleep. The talking goshawk who’d appointed himself her familiar had tried to save her from the black dog by fetching Kincaid. A bit too late, as it turned out, but she appreciated the effort.

  Funny enough, Gavin had been right about people being unable to process a talking bird. Kincaid wasn’t without suspicion, but he still thought hearing the bird talk to him was somehow due to Rain’s gift.

  She had to admit, communicating with animals was much easier when the animal in question spoke English.

  And of course, Brigid hadn’t arrived yet. The high-and-mighty witch who was allegedly her mentor believed that promptness was for less important people and consideration was her right to take, but never give.

  Rain stood in the center of the shop floor, trying to decide which pointless task she should take on first today, when someone knocked at the door. Which meant it couldn’t be Brigid. Knocking was far too polite for the red-haired banshee. With a frown, she crossed to the door and opened it.

  There stood Inspector Justin Walsh, with his cold eyes and his no-nonsense stare — though he was more rumpled and less friendly than the last time he’d come here. Which was saying a lot, since he’d been the distinct opposite of friendly. It looked like he’d been up all night.

  “Miss Finlay,” the inspector said. “May I come in?”

  She held back a sigh. “I don’t suppose you’re here to buy something.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Pressing her lips together, she stepped back to let him inside. “I still didn’t have anything to do with Brody Barnes, if that’s why you’re here,” she said.

  He didn’t answer until he was all the way inside, and the look he gave her was downright chilling. “How about Bryan Cleary?” he said. “Did you have anything to do with him?”

  “Who?”

  Inspector Walsh stared at her another moment. “Well, you’ve certainly managed to look like you don’t know. But one of you people have to know something.”

  “You people?” she said, bristling. “Listen, Inspector, if you think—”

  “All right.” He held a hand out. “Look, it’s been a long night,” he said. “There was another … animal attack, allegedly. This one at the cemetery. Bryan Cleary was killed, and he had another of those damned stones in his mouth.”

  “Last night?” She blinked and frowned. Had the black dog killed someone else before it came for her? That didn’t seem likely — curses generally targeted one person at a time. “What time did it happen?” she said.

  The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Just humor me.”

  “I don’t humor suspects,” he said.

  Her jaw clenched. “Since when am I a suspect?”

  “Well, let’s think about that,” Inspector Walsh said. “All this started happening when you came back to the island.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve done my homework, Miss Finlay.” His eyes bored into her. “The only serious incidents we’ve ever had centered around druids. And aside from the problem with Miss Mulloy, things have been completely peaceful here. Until you.”

  Rain folded her arms and glared at him. “The problem wasn’t with Glynis,” she said. “It was the village. She tried to save that little girl, and they tried to kill her for it.” She paused, struggling not to shout. “As for me, I came back to help with something that had already started. In case you don’t remember, Inspector Walsh, my grandfather was one of them who went missing. And we saved them all. Even the ungrateful ones. So maybe you should stop trying to blame the druids, and start figuring out what’s really going on here!”

  His hard stare softened, but only a little. “I sup
pose you expect me to believe it really was a spider-monster that took the MacCallan boy,” he said. “And that drunken fool O’Shea was telling the truth about some bloody black dog the size of a horse.”

  “No, I don’t expect you to believe that. I wouldn’t expect you to believe in leprechauns if one of them handed you a pot of gold,” she snapped.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do you believe in leprechauns, Miss Finlay?”

  “Actually, no. But I would if I saw one.”

  “So now you’re telling me those stones are from leprechauns. Even though they have druid writing on them.”

  “No! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Her breath huffed out. “I already told you, those runes are not druidic.”

  “What are they, then?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she muttered.

  “Try me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re faerie runes. And the duin’allah, the black dog — those are faerie creatures.”

  “Really,” he said dryly. “Aren’t you a bit too old to believe in faeries?”

  “You’d believe in ’em too, Walsh, if one tried to kill you.”

  Rain’s heart jumped into her throat at the sound of the new voice, a low and threatening tone. She glanced toward the door and managed to relax at the sight of Kincaid, with Brigid right behind him. She hadn’t even heard them come in.

  “Haven’t you bothered her enough?” Kincaid strode toward the inspector, fists clenched tight at his sides. “She’s had nothing to do with Barnes, or with Cleary. Yeah, we hear things out here just as fast as you lot. And Rain was with me last night. So unless you’ve got actual evidence, not just your damn blinding prejudice, you can bugger right off.”

  Inspector Walsh stiffened. “Fine,” he said. “But if I find even the slightest shred of a connection, I’ll be back with a warrant.”

  “You do that.”

  Kincaid glared him out the door, and Brigid closed it firmly behind him, wearing her patented people-are-so-beneath-me expression. Then she turned a fake smile on Kincaid. “And just what were you doing with my apprentice last night, brother mine?” she cooed.