Night Games (2 page)

“Yes, I can.” Brian turned from the scene. “I need to get away for about a month—from the fans, the responsibilities, the
sex.
” He stretched. “I think I'll take a trip back to the ancestral castle. About five hundred years back.”

“Five hundred years?” Jupe's expression hinted that Brian might as well be dodging dinosaurs. “Why five hundred years?”

“Something interesting happened between 2002 and 2010.” Brian raked his fingers through his still-damp hair. Sometimes he wished it didn't hang past his shoulders, but it was part of his mystique in a society where everyone shaved, polished, and hired artists to paint pictures on their heads. “History's a little vague, but during that time period the whole castle collapsed. Why
would a building that had stood for centuries just fall down? I'm curious. I figure it was probably still standing in 2002. Might even use the Constructor to shore it up.” He'd rather use his hands. The Constructor made it too easy. Everything in life was too easy. That's why most men had turned into useless Morwin blobs who couldn't even get off their butts to have sex. They'd rather watch it. Viewers not doers. He felt sorry for them. No matter how hard his past had been, it had given him drive.

Jupe paced in a frenzy of denial. “You can't. What if you get hurt where it counts? Whatta we do then, huh? And how're you going to keep your edge without Nebula?”

“I don't need a trainer. I don't think I'll lose any conditioning in three weeks. And don't worry, no sex on this trip. By the time I get back I'll be ready for the season opener.” He raised his hand to still Jupe's list of possible dangers. “Look, I'm going to a safe time and a safe part of Earth. I'll go at night so no one will see me arrive, and I'll have the time-travel agent give me authentic identification and plenty of the currency in use. I'll even bone up on a speech pattern that's close to the one I use.”

Jupe didn't look convinced. “You want a great vacation? Why not a Canthian Retreat? I hear you come out a new man.”

“I don't think you want a new man.” Jupe wasn't going to let this go. “I'd guess that five hundred years ago the ancestral castle was already
looking pretty grim. Maybe I'll fix the old place up
without
the Constructor's help.” It would feel good to use his hands for something besides touching female bodies.

Jupe blanched. “Use your
hands?
Primitive
tools?
What if—?”

“That's it. I'm going and no one can stop me.”

Brian watched the white stag move through the trees ahead of him. The thick mist hid much of his surroundings, and it was hard to believe the stag was leading him back in time.

Ironic. Humans had conquered space, disease, and everything else imaginable, but time remained a mystery. Only these magical stags from Sirleen held the secret of traveling through time. Intelligent, willing, and scarce, their services couldn't be afforded by most. He would enjoy himself for a few weeks, but when the stag returned to take him home, he'd probably be glad to go.

He frowned as the castle came into sight. What a mess. Only the keep was still standing. The outer walls and towers lay in ruin. Not much shelter there. Good thing the travel agent had packed him some survival gear. It was dark and rainy; not a great way to start his vacation.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about any females. No woman would be stupid enough to come here on a night like this.

 

 

 

 

“Horse pooky. Every red-blooded woman would want to meet Black Liam Byrne, the most evil vampire to ever bite a virgin. Bet he's tall, dark, and horny. Heck, at my age, that sounds pretty good.” Katy pulled the collar of her all-weather coat more tightly around her ears. “Had a reading done by Mary Jo Clark two years ago. The cards said in 2002 I'd meet a sexy man from far away. Ireland's far away. Black Liam could be the one.”

Ally hated to stomp on her great-aunt's vision of sensual nirvana. “Sorry, Katy. From the books I've read, I'd say we're dealing with the dullahan here. Black-robed, headless horseman. Harbinger of death. Vampires aren't big in Ireland, and they don't have discriminating taste buds.” She had to shout to be heard above the waves pounding
at the base of the cliff. Building a castle with one side backed up to a cliff that dropped hundreds of feet to the sea might make it safe from invaders, but it didn't bode well for sleepwalkers or the chronically clumsy.

“The
dullahan?
” Katy cast her a scathing glance. “Dull is right. What good would a headless man be?”

“None. I know because I married one. All Dave's brains were in his—”

“Can it, Ally. You're a disgrace to the O'Neills. The O'Neills don't give up on romance because they pulled one wormy apple out of the basket. Don't know why the ghosts of your ancestors don't rise up and kick you out of Ireland.” Katy peered into a darkened doorway of the ruined keep.

“I'm open to new experiences, but I really don't expect to see any ancestral ghosts rising to defend love. Our family history says most of the O'Neills spent their lives fighting and drinking. That didn't leave much time for anything else.” Ally flinched as a large drop of water from a lowhanging branch splattered against her cheek.

“You're here, aren't you? So they must have done something else. Ever since that rotten exhusband of yours took off with another woman, you've been reading too many books. The wrong books.” Katy peered further into the doorway. “Want to take a look?”

“I'd rather eat dirt. Look, it's cold, wet, and dark. Let's go back to the wagon.”
And away from
comments about my “perfect” marriage.
Dave had been a mistake, but the experience had toughened her. Strength was part of her new persona. “I still don't know why we didn't hire a car to get around Ireland.”

“When I was a kid, I always dreamed about living in Ireland. I used to pretend I was one of the traveling people, driving my gypsy wagon from village to village. Used to picture a dark gypsy kidnapping me and having his way with me. Exciting stuff.” Katy grinned at her. “Could still happen, you know.”

“Katy, we have a horse that's so laid-back I have to keep checking to see if he's dead.” Ally smiled. She'd had her own fantasies as a kid. “Excitement is a black stallion, a masked man wearing a black cape. Zorro.” Instead she'd settled for plain Dave who'd morphed into rotten Dave.

Katy looked interested. “I could go for a masked man.”

A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. “I still think we should go back to the wagon.” Since Katy wasn't into research, Ally had done it for her. Ally knew all there was to know about every Irish fairy, and she'd bet not one of them would show tonight.

“Know what? I think you were switched at birth. Wouldn't be surprised if you belonged to Edna Wilson. She just sits around on that old yellow porch wearin' a sour puss and whining about everything. Whined her husband into an early grave.” Katy marched ahead of Ally, her
bright orange hair a beacon in the rainy Irish night.

“Give it up, Katy. Black Liam likes virgins. You're no virgin.” Ally had been a virgin when she married Dave. Marrying a virgin was important to him. And didn't the “perfect” wife always try to please her husband? Fat lot of good it had done her.

“I could pretend.” Katy turned her head to offer Ally a sly grin.

Oh, boy. “This is ridiculous. Let's look at things logically.”

“No.”

“Any vampire worth his salt would be hitting the streets of Dublin scoping out hot-blooded wenches,
not
wandering around an old crumbling castle at midnight. Face it, we're small change.” Ally pushed a damp tendril of hair from her face.

“I want to see a vampire.” Katy's tone suggested that if Black Liam knew what was good for him, he'd better appear. “Besides, I'm on to something here. I feel a presence.”

“Rain, Katy. It's called rain.”

“You've got the sensitivity of a turnip, just like your Uncle George. Wouldn't recognize a spirit if it pinched your bottom.” She hunched her thin shoulders and trudged onward. Katy Gallagher, intrepid huntress of all things spooky.

“I've got loads of sensitivity. I'm sensitive to sinus headaches, hacking coughs—things you get from standing in the rain.” Ally did some mental
fanny kicking. Why had she let her great-aunt talk her into coming to Ireland with her? Okay, so Katy had used the an-old-helpless-woman-can't-go-to-Ireland-by-herself ploy. Hah! Katy was a seventy-year-old Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

To be honest, it wasn't all her great-aunt's fault. When Katy had set her sights on writing about Irish fairies, Ally had thought it might be a fun vacation. The horse-drawn gypsy wagon had sounded relaxing and stress-free. Wrong. She should've known that traveling with Katy would never be stress-free.

“Too bad you take after your mother's side of the family. Don't get me wrong, Ruth's a fine woman, but she doesn't have a speck of imagination. Takes things too seriously. Always too busy fighting with that nephew of mine. Should know by now she's never going to change him. Doesn't pay to get too wrapped up in a man.” She cast Ally a meaningful glance.

“Save the lecture. I know I spent too much time on Dave.”
Five years too much.
After five years of marriage, Dave had left her for a woman who didn't give a flip whether she pleased him or not. “I vote for heading back to the wagon. It's going to be a no-vampire night, and it can't be too safe wandering around by ourselves in the dark.”

“Loosen up, honey. It's fun being scared.” Katy peered at her watch.

“The only one who'll be scared is your insurance agent. What if you trip and break a leg?
What're you going to put on the claim form? I was chasing a vampire?” Okay, she'd try to think good thoughts about this trip. It would give her time to work on her new book,
Coping with Single Life.

“You're a depressing person.” Katy's stride never faltered. “Remind me to leave you home next time.”

Ally sighed. Maybe she was depressing, but negative was where she was at right now. Only one positive in her life at present. She was positive she'd never worry about making a man happy again.

She'd written a string of best-selling books teaching women how to be the perfect wife.
The Perfect Wife in the Kitchen, The Perfect Wife in Bed, The Perfect Wife at the Baseball Game
, ad nauseam, all encouraging women to go the extra mile to please their husbands. She'd been so sure this was the key to a fulfilling marriage.

Ally had watched her mother battle her father over unimportant things from the time Ally was old enough to understand all the screaming and to hide her head under the pillows. She was determined to save other women from a lifetime of constant strife.

Fulfilling marriage. Right. On the way out the door for the last time, Dave had called her boring. He wanted a woman who was more of a challenge, more exciting. Ally narrowed her gaze. He'd wanted bitchy; she'd given him bitchy. The
divorce settlement had been more exciting than their marriage ever was.

“It's almost twelve.” Katy sounded gleeful.

Black Liam had better protect his most treasured body parts with Katy on the prowl.

“That McDermott guy said if we walk around this ruin at the exact stroke of midnight, we'll meet Black Liam.”

Ally rolled her eyes. “The only thing that'll happen if we walk around this place is we'll fall off the cliff. I love Ireland. I might even love this old castle, if I could see it. But I don't enjoy anything while standing in a cold rain at midnight.” She hunched her shoulders against the damp chill. “It's raining harder.”

Katy stared distractedly into the darkness. “This isn't rain, honey. It's the soft Irish weather.”

“Well, some of your soft Irish weather is trickling down my back.”

The quiet buzz of Katy's watch signaled midnight. Good. Now they could walk around three sides of this gothic novel reject, nothing would happen, and they could return to their built-by-insane-gypsies-who-hate-tourists caravan wagon.

Ally shivered. As if things weren't bad enough, the wind had picked up. Maybe the breeze would blow the rain clouds away. Was she an optimist, or what?

She turned her back to the strong gusts that whipped strands of hair into her eyes, while the
rest of her hair blew in every direction. Lucky that only Katy could see her.

The only comfort in this whole rotten night was knowing she had pepper spray in her pocket. Katy might be looking for vampires, but Ally was ready if something more substantial popped up.

“When I go to the great beyond, tell everyone I'm scheduling hauntings at noon. Midnight is the pits.” Ally turned and continued walking, her muttered complaint swept away on a gust of wind that whistled through the myriad cracks and crannies of the ancient building.

Ally was so busy thinking sarcastic thoughts, she didn't even realize Katy had stopped until she bumped into her.

“You go on ahead, honey. Got something in my shoe. I'll catch up. Shout if you see anything.” Katy bent down to work at the laces of her running shoes.

Right. She'd just mosey along and see what she could see. Which was nothing. Ally would kill for a flashlight. Katy was wearing a spelunkers headlight on her head, but she wouldn't turn it on. Said the light might scare off a vampire. Now Ally was reduced to feeling her way along the stone wall. At least the sound of the waves would keep her away from the cliff's edge.

“See anything yet?” Katy's voice wafted to her above the wailing wind.

“No.” Curse the luck that had sent them into McNulty's Pub. The man who'd spun this yarn for them probably had a tale for every gullible
tourist. Well, Ally O'Neill didn't believe in ghosts and ghoulies. She was only here for Katy.