The Shadows (16 page)

Patrick continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Finally, Finn tracked them to the magical wood of Dubros, but Oscar said that any man who would harm Diarmid would have to get through him first. Oscar was the greatest of Finn’s warriors; even Finn was no match for him. So Finn went to the Land of Promise, to his old teacher, a witch, who said she would help. She hunted down Diarmid on a flying water lily and tried to kill him with poison darts. But Diarmid was the best spearman alive—he slew the witch with a single hurl of his Red Spear, and Finn was forced to abandon his quest. When Aengus Og asked for peace, Finn agreed, and Grainne and Diarmid were exiled and married.

“But after a time, Grainne grew lonely. She wanted to see her father, and so Diarmid agreed to take her to the High King’s feast. There, Diarmid was awakened in the night by a terrible sound, and when he went to investigate, Finn told him that it was a wild boar; Diarmid was under a
geis
by Aengus Og never to hunt boar because Diarmid’s half brother had been turned into one magically when they were youths. Diarmid asked for Finn’s assistance, which Finn refused, and Diarmid went alone into the night.

“And there, on the plain of Ben Bulben, Diarmid was slain by the great boar that was his half brother, and as he lay dying, Oscar and Ossian pleaded with Finn to save him, because water drunk from Finn’s hands was healing. Finn brought Diarmid water, but before he reached him, he remembered what Diarmid had done and so he let the water slip through his fingers. Three times he did this, and three times Ossian and Oscar begged for him to heal their friend. At last, Finn agreed; but by then it was too late, and Diarmid died.”

“It’s so sad,” I said, as overwhelmed by the story as I always was.

Patrick smiled gently. “Not so sad really. Aengus Og took Diarmid’s body to his home and brought his soul back now and then so he could talk to him.”

“But Grainne married Finn then. So it
is
sad.”

“I suppose she didn’t really love Diarmid.”

“I like to think she did. And that when he died, Grainne
had no choice but to marry Finn. I like to think she mourned Diarmid the rest of her life.”

“You don’t think she loved him just because of the lovespot?”

I shook my head. “Perhaps at the start. But then I think it became real for both of them. He was an honorable man. How could she not love him?”

“Honorable? For stealing away his captain’s betrothed?”

“He was under a
geis
. And even when they ran away, he resisted her for Finn’s sake.”

Patrick stared at me. “How do you know that?”

“Grandma says so. The way she tells it, Diarmid left bread behind each night to signal to Finn that he’d not yet . . . well—you know.”

“I’ve never heard that part of the story.”

“It mattered to him—his loyalty to Finn.” I looked again at the illustration, Grainne’s long golden hair.

“I guess that loyalty bought him something. Aengus Og gave Diarmid’s body back, so he’s supposed to be sleeping now with the rest of the Fianna, ready to return when the
dord fiann
blows. It’s all just a legend, but I wish . . .” Patrick sighed, and then he said softly, “Perhaps I could be your Diarmid, Grace.”

There was something slow and searching and familiar in his eyes, and my dream flitted back, Patrick on the riverbank and then . . . not Patrick.

I pushed the image away. “What would we be running from?”

Patrick glanced at the display case. “Why couldn’t we be
running
to
something? The stories are important, Grace. And these relics are too. They’re our heritage. My father told me we’re caretakers. That our job is to keep them safe until they can be returned.”

“You mean to return them to Ireland?” I asked. “But how valuable they must be.”

“Some are. The most valuable pieces aren’t here. They’re in safekeeping.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key, which he inserted in the lock of one of the cases. He opened the glass and picked up a long flat piece of stone carved with markings that looked like bird feet—runes. He held it reverently. “But this may be the most important piece I own, though it’s worth little in money.” He held it out to me. “It’s an ogham stick. Take it.”

“Are you certain? I don’t want to break it.”

“You won’t. It’s stone. You’d need the strength of Cuchulain.” Another legendary Irish hero.

I took the stick from Patrick. I expected the feel of cool stone, but it was warm, as if it had been resting in the sun. And growing warmer. Almost . . . hot. Scalding.
Burning
. “Ouch! Oh—” I gasped and thrust it back at Patrick so hard he nearly fumbled and dropped it. I looked down at my fingers, expecting to see blisters form, but there was nothing. The skin wasn’t even red, and yet it had been so hot. . . .

Patrick frowned and looked down at the stone in his hands, asking sharply, “What did you say?”

“I—Nothing.”

His frown deepened.

I worried that I might have offended him, that he would think me somehow not the girl he wanted. “It’s fascinating, Patrick. Truly.”

His expression cleared. “I’ve arranged the cases so sunlight hits them every day near sunset. I like to come in here and look at them then. They look as if they’re glowing. Magical.” He set the ogham stick carefully back into the case. “Some of these things . . . the old magic’s still in them. You can feel it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t joking, and there was that reverence again in his voice, along with an odd excitement. I thought perhaps he meant magic as in
presence
, the way some things seemed to hold their history within them. My grandmother’s horn had been like that. Sometimes when I held it, I could have sworn I
heard
the battles it had been in, the cries of men, the clash of swords, and the
swoosh
of spears rushing to their targets.

“They’re so full of history,” I agreed.

“They are, but that’s not what I mean. I mean . . .” He hesitated. “I mean magic.”

“You can’t mean real magic.”

“Don’t you believe in it?”

“I believe some things feel almost alive,” I said. “They’re so old, and they’ve seen so much that I think they just become . . . imprinted.”

“Yes.” His gray-green eyes were lit with an inner fire. “Though it’s more than that too. Grace, can I tell you something without you thinking I’m mad?”

“Of course.”

He clutched my fingers as though he was afraid I would dash away. “You know I’m involved with the Fenian Brotherhood.”

The echo of Derry’s words, his questions, came into my head. “Yes.”

“We’ve raised money for the rebels in Ireland, but the last uprising was a disaster. Things have grown desperate. I was there, Grace. To see such a loss of hope . . . I remembered something my father had told me, about the old magic, and I thought: What could it harm?”

“The old magic?”

“We’ve done something amazing, Grace. In only a few weeks, everything will change.
Everything.
I can’t speak of it now, not yet, but it’s real. It’s real, and it’s as alive as it always was. And soon the whole world will know of it—”

“I think if the two of you don’t come to the parlor, Mama might call for the police,” Lucy said from the door.

Patrick released my hands and sprang away in a single moment.

I was dazed, still captured by the things he’d said.
The old magic. Something amazing. Real and alive.
I didn’t think him mad. I didn’t know what to think, except that I wished Lucy had stayed away a few moments longer, because Patrick gave me a quick glance, a shake of his head, and I knew that what he’d told me was to be kept secret and that he would not speak of it before the others.

“Of course,” he said to his sister. He turned to me with a
smile. “I’ve kept you to myself long enough. Go on with Lucy. I’ll be there as soon as I lock these up.”

I nodded. He met my gaze, that glow still in his eyes, and I felt as if the two of us were together in something bigger than ourselves—and I liked the feeling.

When we left the room, Lucy gave me a simpering smile. “How close you were. Why, it’s almost scandalous.”

I said nothing. My mother would hardly mind, and I didn’t think hers would either, given that the two of them were conspiring to get Patrick and me together.

Lucy put her hand on my arm, stopping me. “Grace,” she said urgently, all nastiness gone. “I need a favor.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m sorry. Truly I am. It’s only . . . well, you must know how jealous I am of you and Patrick. You must know—”

“What do you want, Lucy?”

“Derry wants to take me to a parish fair,” she rushed on. “He said to ask you to come as our chaperone. He’s worried for my reputation.”

“Is he? How good of him. Is that what he was telling you before our shopping trip? That he couldn’t meet you alone because he worried for your reputation?”

She at least had the sense to blush. “That was different. Other people will see us. It’s a
parish
fair.”

“He’s Catholic then, as I thought. Lucy, surely you must see how useless this is? Your mother—”

“I don’t need a lecture from you, Grace. You needn’t be so
self-righteous. It’s not as if I’m asking you to accompany us to a dance hall. Will you come or not?”

“It’s not seemly even if I do. It will just be the three of us caught in a compromising position, and I cannot afford it.”

“Then ask your brother to come too. He’ll be chaperone enough for all of us.”

That was true, though the thought of asking my brother to go, or trying to keep him away from liquor or cards if I did, was exhausting.

“Please,” Lucy whispered fervently. “Please. I’ll do anything you ask in return.”

It was truly the last thing I wanted to do. A provincial parish fair. My brother. Derry with Lucy. I felt a flash of jealousy that unnerved me.
How ridiculous you are.
I’d just left Patrick. It was
Patrick
I wanted.
Needed.

Lucy kept going. “It will be fun. There will be games, and food. Puppets, he said. A magic lantern show. I hardly ever see him. You must help me, Grace. I’m quite desperate.”

It was that, finally, that made me give in. Lucy was going to be my sister—
hopefully—
and she would go with Derry whether or not Aidan and I were there. I could protect her this much.

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Very well. I’ll try to convince Aidan.”

“There will be drink there,” she said.

“Then I’m certain he’ll come.”

Lucy laughed. I didn’t know whether it was at my joke or in relief that I’d said yes.

I asked, “When is it?”

“Derry has Thursday evening off.”

I sighed. Evening. Of course. It was not only the hardest time to think of an excuse to leave the house, it was the worst time to go anywhere with Aidan.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” Lucy said. “I’ll make certain you don’t regret it. I promise.”

I regretted it already.
Derry. Watching me. Waiting.

I looked longingly over my shoulder, back to the study. I thought of the things Patrick had said and that fire in his eyes.
“Perhaps I could be your Diarmid, Grace.”
And I told myself I wished to be nowhere else but with him, listening to his talk of Celtic history and magic.

ELEVEN

Grace

W
hy would I want to spend the evening with you and Lucy Devlin and her new boy?” Aidan asked, lolling on my bed, tossing about the worn pillow that Mama had embroidered with daffodils.

“Put that down,” I said, grabbing it from him. “There will be plenty of drink to be had, I understand. And what else have you to do?”

“Plenty more than playing nanny. There’s a card game at the Bucket with my name on it.”

“What will you gamble away this time? Mama’s shoes?”

“Perhaps this,” he said, grabbing back the pillow. “It’s a pretty thing.”

“
Aidan
. Truly, this must stop. You’re bankrupting us; surely you know it. Mama’s already forced into giving pianoforte lessons, and—”

“Mama loves playing the pianoforte. And she’s doing it
for your ridiculous debut. Why you’ve need of it with Patrick Devlin sniffing around, I don’t know.”

“Must you be so selfish? Why can’t you see—”

“Hell, Grace, you’ve turned into as big a fishwife as Mama,” he said, covering his face with the pillow.

The words stopped me short. As far as I knew, Mama had never even raised her voice to him.

“I don’t understand how you can do it,” I said desperately. “How you can just let everything go. Everything we have.”

He lowered the pillow, and in his blue eyes was a fear I had never seen before. “You don’t know anything.”

“Then tell me. Explain it to me.”

He looked away. When he looked back, he was again the self-deprecating, devil-may-care brother I knew. “What kind of drink did you say would be at this fair?”

“Aidan,
please
.”

“Leave it, Gracie,” he said, rising from my bed, tossing the pillow so it skidded across the bare floor. “I’ll go to the fair with you if you’re so hot to do a favor for Lucy Devlin.”