Night Of The Blackbird (33 page)

Sally laughed. “Probably not quite as Irish as yours. Is anyone—even in Ireland—as Irish as your dad? Hey, come on in,” Sally said, slipping her arm through Moira's, leading her into the shop and whispering a mile a minute, as she tended to do. “He's a hunk. Of course, I'd already heard he was good-looking. The others are already in the shop.”

“The others?” Moira asked, frowning, pulling back. But they were inside, and she came to a standstill, frozen as if she'd suddenly been sheathed in ice. Patrick, Josh and Danny were all there. Josh had a camera and was already filming, Patrick was studying a display case, while Danny seemed to be perusing the sachets of herbs that offered to heal or bring money, love or peace of mind.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Josh asked cheerfully.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Moira exploded without thinking.

Josh frowned. “Sorry. I thought I was part of this.”

Moira quickly gathered her wits. “No, Josh, I'm sorry, I—”

“I don't think she meant you in particular, Josh,” Patrick said.

“Or you,” Danny murmured, so softly Moira wasn't sure she really heard him.

“You didn't know they were coming? How nice that they've surprised you,” Sally said cheerfully, apparently missing Moira's tone. “Anyway, the window is special for Saint Patrick's Day. I have some books on Ireland over there. Oh! And there's my banshee. Isn't she great?”

The banshee
was
great. She was swathed in black and seemed to float in the air in the archway between the front of the shop and the rear. She had a strangely beautiful porcelain face, with dark eyes and a mournful expression.

“She's very impressive,” Moira heard herself murmur.

“She's beautiful,” Michael said.

“Well, originally, banshees must have been beautiful,” Sally said. “You see—”

“Wait, wait,” Josh protested. “Moira, sit down with Sally. You can interview her about the banshee.”

A few minutes later she was seated in a chair alongside Sally, the banshee swaying to Sally's right. Moira introduced the piece and filming began.

Sally's discussion of the banshee made a nice complement to Granny Jon's tales. When she was done, Moira smiled and looked at Josh. “I think it's perfect.”

“Really? I did well? You're going to use the tape?” Sally asked.

“It was great.”

“And I won't end up on the editing room floor?” Sally queried.

“No way,” Danny said. Moira looked at him, irritated that he would answer such a question in her stead. “Well, she was definitely more interesting than the pub doors we taped,” he said with a shrug. He spoke lightly, but the way he stared at her disturbed her. He was still angry, she thought, that she had been on his computer, reading what he had been writing.

“Well, then, I have to take you to lunch to celebrate,” Sally said.

“No, we'll take you to lunch, for your wonderful speech,” Moira said.

“I insist,” Sally said.

“We're going to make big bucks on you, Sally. Let the production team of Whalen and Kelly take you out,” Josh insisted.

“All right,” Sally agreed. “Randall and Meg will be here in just a minute. They do palm reading,” she explained to the others. “They're wonderful, if anyone is game for a palm reading.”

“I'm afraid I'm more game for lunch,” Josh said. “It's nearly three. I'm going to embarrass myself with abdominal rumblings soon.”

“Why don't you guys go ahead? I'll call my friend Martin McMurphy, so he'll be expecting us all. Just introduce yourselves—he'll have a table.”

Michael, near Moira, leaned to her and whispered softly, “Martin McMurphy? Is that name for real?”

A smile twitched her lips. So what if Danny, her brother and Josh were here? She was in a crowd; she was safe. She just needed to steer clear of Danny. She was going to make the day a pleasant one.

“All right, we'll head on out.”

“The restaurant is completely decorated. Leprechauns—and the usual stuffed wiccans, ladies in black, none on broomsticks—are decorated with green bows. Marty also owns House of Haunts. It's a year-round spook house, but he's added some extra banshees, evil leprechauns and green-glowing skeletons for Saint Paddy's Day. He says you're welcome to run tape there, as well.”

“I'm for it. But lunch first. So how do we get to this place?” Josh asked.

“Straight down the mall. The restaurant is across the street in a quaint little eighteenth-century house. The horror house is right next door.”

“Well, since we're all still standing here, I'll do the heading on out,” Patrick offered. As he started out the door, the Pelhams—Randall and Meg, Sally's palm readers—came slipping through the door. They were both at least sixty and could have passed for thirty. Randall's head was shaved, and he had a Yul Brenner look. Meg had apparently been born with the kind of platinum blond hair that turned to shimmering silver with age. She had an abundance of it, streaming down her back and over the long black cloak she wore. Sally explained that she was off to lunch and they headed for the door.

“Moira,” Meg called just at the last moment.

She stopped, looking back.

“Have a nice lunch. But be careful. There's a darkness around you.”

“A darkness?” Moira murmured.

Meg looked worried. “Just avoid darkness. Scoot, go, go. I'm sorry I stopped you.”

Moira gave Meg a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried out. The others followed. As they headed down the street, she realized Danny was right behind her. It was that aftershave. She knew it so well.

“Hey,” she accused him suddenly and angrily as he came up beside her. “I asked you to help my father.”

“Your father is fine. He's with Liam, Chrissie is there, Colleen was on her way down, and Jeff and the band were coming in early, in case they needed to help out.”

“Really? You talked to my dad?”

“I did, and so did your brother.”

“Why are you here?”

“I'm worried about you.”

“Why? I seem safe enough when you're not around.”

He caught her shoulders, swinging her around to face him. “You really think I'd push you under a subway?”

She stared at him stubbornly, her chin in the air. The others were ahead of them and kept walking, unaware of the drama playing out behind them.

“Moira, I'm a writer. I put things on paper. Is Stephen King a mass murderer? Is Dean Koontz a psychotic killer?”

“Let's just have a nice lunch, Danny.”

“Yeah, right. And when we get back, why don't you search my room, see what else you can find?”

She ignored him, pulling away and hurrying to catch up with the others.

A few minutes later they arrived at Martin McMurphy's restaurant. He greeted them with pleasure. He was tall, sandy-haired, freckled and immensely charming. As they walked to the table, Moira nudged Sally. “There's an adorable guy for you.”

“He's a great friend, but I'm afraid his boyfriend likes him, too.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, they're both two of the best friends I've ever had.” Sally laughed. “You'll meet Dirk later. He works in the haunted house.”

They sat at a table done up with a green tablecloth, green napkins and leprechaun salt and pepper shakers. The place was usually a theme café, with model monsters, gargoyles, fake spider webs in the corners and little plastic rats to hold the menus. Now the witches and goblins were all decked out in green.

Martin waited on them himself. As they waited for the meal, Michael produced a release form, and then Josh followed Martin and Moira around the room, filming. When the food arrived, they all took their places at the table again. The food was delicious, and the green beer was crisp and cold. Coffee was served with McMurphy's Finest Shortbread, and no one was able to pick up the check because McMurphy refused to give them one.

“But we're a crowd,” Sally protested.

“And this is the best kind of business expense,” Martin retorted.

“This has been wonderful, but we've got to be getting back, I'm afraid,” Moira said.

“You've got to do the haunted house first,” Sally told her. “It only takes a few minutes.”

“Dirk will be waiting for you,” Martin insisted.

“Do you mind if we tape in the haunted house?” Moira asked him.

“I want you to go in and become delightfully spooked,” he said. “No taping—I can't give away my trade secrets. Besides, scary things aren't so scary in the light.”

They thanked him for his hospitality and headed for the spook house next door. There they were met by Dirk. He was tall and striking, with dark eyes and hair, fine cheekbones and a quick smile. He kissed Sally's cheek and smiled broadly as everyone was introduced. “All right, then, I guess I should give my usual spiel. Being a little bit scared is fun, being really frightened is not. This doesn't look like a crowd to be really frightened. Or even scared,” he said with a sigh. “But if anyone is upset at all, just yell, and we'll get you right out into the open air, okay?

“And now…” He swept his arm dramatically through the air, gave a low bow and opened another door, ushering them in.

The place was well done, with black lights and realistic effects. Moira walked in with Sally, and they paused together in the first room, the den of Bram Stoker, who was writing while horrid visions of vampires danced on the walls. The next room highlighted the contrast between the witch of legend and the true wiccan, who honored the earth as the mother and respected all things within the universe. Next came a room filled with werewolves, vampires, demons, mummies and, special for the upcoming holiday, crazed leprechauns and evil banshees. A vampire was bent over a bed where a beautiful young woman slept in a silk gown. As Moira went to study the tableau, both the victim and the vampire suddenly turned, the woman dripping fake blood, the vampire snarling. Moira let out a startled scream, and her brother, Michael, Josh and Danny were instantly at her side.

“Moira?” Patrick said.

“I was startled.” She laughed. The vampire and victim had resumed their deadly pose, as if they had never moved.

“There are live performers throughout,” Sally told them. “Those two should get a raise.”

Danny was right behind Moira. She rushed ahead, not wanting to be close to him. Michael had asked Sally something, and the two were walking together, deep in conversation, while Josh told Patrick that they really should do a separate show on Salem.

They entered a room with psychedelic lighting and a floor that rotated. Moira moved quickly, wanting to shake Danny. She found herself spinning, then emerged into a pretend graveyard. Mist rolled across tombstones. Banshees swept through the air, letting out mournful cries. A figure dressed as the grim reaper suddenly leaped out from behind one of the tombstones. Moira jumped, startled again, but she smiled rather than screamed as the figure circled her, not touching her but tapping his scythe on the floor. “You guys are good,” she told him softly, moving on. The grim reaper didn't say a word, just walked among the tombstones, ready to startle the next guest. Moira hurried on, hearing the revolving floor rotate, bringing the rest of her party from beyond.

She passed through a doorway hung with fluttering gray silk.

Here was a church scene, with mourners standing by an open grave. Above the dead man floated another of the black-draped banshees.

She walked through another doorway and found herself in a hall. Eerily lit signs pointed in either direction. She moved to the right and found a door warning of the dangers of the countryside. In this scene, there was misted light and a rainbow. A leprechaun sat on a pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow. But as she approached, something triggered the leprechaun. He spun around, offering a face of pure evil. There was something so eerie about his expression that she suddenly found herself uncomfortable. She quickly exited the room and returned to the hallway, only to find herself completely turned around, and going back the way she had come.

She found herself in the graveyard again. Music played, low and macabre. “Sally? Guys?” she called softly. It seemed they had come and gone. “Hello?” she murmured, hoping the black-clad grim reaper would reappear to show her the way out.

Nothing. The banshees floated by, singing in a high-pitched wail that made her flesh crawl.

“Damn it!” she muttered, and started for a doorway. A sixth sense warned her that she was being followed. She spun. The grim reaper. “There you are. I don't believe it, but I'm lost. Can you show me the way out?”

He walked past her and stopped, blocking the doorway.

Suddenly he drew his black-clad arm from beneath his cloak. The light caught on something in his hand. A knife. A big knife, glittering in the dim light.