TWELVE
As we pulled into the parking area next to Magh Meall, I spotted a sign on the door reading “Closed for Private Function.” Most of those attending the wake had never met the guest of honor, but I had more reason than most to raise a toast to Peadar. A week had passed since the old man’s eyes had closed for the last time. I pushed away the memory of how it had felt to have his body rise beneath my magic only to fall charred to the ground. I knew that many of the tavern’s regulars would be here tonight: those who came to drink, those who came to play music, and those who came to do both. Claire and Colin had drafted Peter to work behind the bar, so I had caught a ride with Iris and Oliver.
Ellen and Tucker’s wedding announcement had been published on the society page the previous day. “People will expect us to arrive together,” she’d said to explain why she’d chosen to ride with Tucker rather than the rest of us. I hated to think of her permanently attached to the man, but at the end of the day, I didn’t get to have a say. I prayed she would find happiness and adjust as well to married life as Iris had to being single.
I could not help but admire the way Iris had blossomed since Connor’s passing. Her style no longer reflected his insecurities, but instead the beautiful woman she was, inside and out. Tonight she wore a new black dress that hit her slightly below the knee, modest in cut and color, but seductive in the way it clung to her trim frame.
Oliver had donned a black single-breasted suit and a thin black tie; the two shades of black matched to a degree that only Oliver’s expert eye could have managed. I wore a sage-green tea-length dress Ellen had picked out for me. Not the best shade for mourning, but the dress flattered me, fitting my growing stomach perfectly. It made me feel pretty, and by God, that would be enough for tonight.
Oliver parked our car very near the entrance but in a no-parking zone. He looked over his shoulder at me and winked. “They don’t mean us,” he said. I knew for a fact that the man had never had to pay a parking ticket in his life. Since we hadn’t blocked a fire hydrant or anything, and since my feet were swelling in the shoes I’d let vanity talk me into wearing, I met his wink with a smile. “You two stay put,” he said, as he hopped out and opened first Iris’s door, then mine.
“It’s wonderful to have you home,” Iris said, affection for her little brother suffusing her voice and expression. He closed the doors and offered each of us one of his arms, leading us toward the door that swung open as we neared it.
“If it isn’t my beautiful soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” Colin said, leaning forward to plant a wet, whiskey-laced kiss on my cheek. “It means the world to Claire that you and your family are here tonight. It means the world to both of us.” Another kiss, and Oliver maneuvered me over the threshold. “Ellen will arrive shortly,” Oliver explained.
“We got the beautiful flowers she sent—they are over by the display Claire has set up for our Peadar.” He forced a smile onto his face. “And speaking of Ellen, I look forward to congratulating Tucker on finally getting her to make an honest man out of him.”
“That would indeed count as quite a feat,” Iris said. She felt no more enthusiasm for the impending nuptials than I did.
“Perhaps we could make it a double wedding?” Colin asked me good-naturedly.
“Not a chance,” Oliver responded. “You never want to see two Taylor women competing for the same spotlight. Trust me, it’s easy to get burned.” He put his arm around Colin’s shoulders and led him toward the whiskey.
I looked across the room, to where Peter was beaming at me from behind the bar. Our eyes met, and I felt the baby move. “That’s right, little man,” I said. “That’s your daddy.” I moved toward the bar, and he leaned over it to kiss me deeply, hungrily. Another taste of whiskey. His face looked a little flushed, and his eyes were moist. His Irish was showing.
“There you are, my love,” Claire said, coming over and taking me in her arms.
“Can I help somehow?”
“Oh, no, we’ve got everything under control. Have you seen the memorial to Peadar?”
“No, not yet,” I responded.
“Here, let me show you.” She led me across the bar to a long table that had been draped with a white tablecloth. Two large vases of white roses paired with blue lisianthus and yellow irises, one of Ellen’s favorite bouquets, anchored the ends of the table. A large black-and-white photo of a young man, dark with a mischievous grin, stood in the middle, flanked by white column candles and smaller photos of Peadar from over the years (the 1970s?—the ’80s?), the dark hair graying, and crow’s feet lining the corners of his eyes. There was also a Polaroid similar to the one found by Detective Cook, this one showing Peadar standing between Claire and Colin and holding his infant namesake, Peter.
“It’s hard to believe that scrawny little baby grew into the man behind the bar,” I said, as I could find nothing else to say about the older stranger whose life we had gathered to celebrate.
Claire’s face darkened for a moment, but then she glanced over at her son, and her smile returned full force. “Isn’t it, though?” She turned back to the memorial. “We didn’t have many photos to use. That one was the day we brought Peter home from the hospital. This one here,” she said, touching the Polaroid’s thick bottom border, “this was the last time we saw Peadar. He and Colin’s father had a falling out, and then . . . well, then nothing.” She tried to choke back tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t bear the thought that he may have been murdered.” I wanted to tell her that he hadn’t been murdered. That he hadn’t died alone either. I would have to soon, but not here and certainly not now. “He was so dear, so innocent.”
“I could tell,” I said, prompting a look of confusion from Claire. “From the photos,” I said, although the photographs reflected none of the innocence I’d seen in Peadar’s eyes. “He looks like a very nice man.”
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I should get back to the kitchen, see how things are going there.” She gave me a quick hug and a pat on the stomach. I noticed that Ellen was arriving with a sheepish Tucker in tow. He wore a canary-swallowing smile and was readily accepting the many handshakes and pats that were coming his way. In that moment I hated myself. The man did look happy. He did seem to be in love. Who was I to question Ellen’s choices? I realized that I had to put on my big-girl pants and apologize to her.
A chorus of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” broke out near the bar, being led, much to my amusement, by Oliver. A player near the bandstand whipped out a mandolin. Uilleann pipes droned awake and moments later a fiddle joined in, followed by a banjo. Voices from every corner joined in. Iris had put down her drink and was dancing with Colin. Now this was an Irish wake. I hadn’t managed to save Peadar, but looking around, feeling the music move through me, I felt happy. I took a seat near the memorial that gave me a decent view of the bandstand.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I looked over to find Detective Cook standing behind me. “Still the life of the party, isn’t he?”
It felt somehow disloyal to discuss Oliver with Cook. “I don’t think you should have come tonight,” I said. “This is a private event, and I didn’t see the name ‘Detective’ on the guest list.” I was all too aware that the two had been involved. Their secret romance had ended in tragedy years ago, a tragedy involving Jilo’s granddaughter, Grace. For years, Oliver’s guilt had driven his whole life, and even though he would never confess it, I knew that he would give his own life to right the wrong he had done. I saw no such remorse in the detective.
“Oh, I was invited, all right,” he said, showing me the pint of beer in his hand.
“So you are here as a private citizen, not a policeman, then?”
“That depends on whether you have something you are trying to hide,” he said, but the twinkle in his eyes indicated that he was pulling my leg.
“Oh, Detective Cook, my life is nothing these days if not an open book.”
He took a sip from his beer. “You know, you could call me ‘Adam’ if you’d like. I’m not your enemy. Matter of fact, I am one of the best friends you have in this room.”
“I will reserve judgment on that.” I paused. “Adam. However, I’m more than willing to do away with formalities if you will quit calling me ‘Miss Taylor.’?”
“Deal,” he said. “But no one is going to call you ‘Miss Taylor’ for much longer, huh? Claire told me,” he said in response to my unasked question. “When’s the wedding?”
“Soon. Why, you angling for an invitation?”
“I’d be honored,” he said and looked over at Oliver. “I assume your uncle will give you away.”
“Yes, and someday I hope to return the favor.” Cook—Adam—laughed. Disloyal or not, it seemed like the right time to do a little meddling. “So, how much longer are you going to punish him? It’s obvious you still have feelings for each other.”
“Ah, Mercy. If it were only that simple. I’m not punishing him . . .”
“No?”
“No. The world isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is. I’m a policeman, a detective . . .”
“Oh, so you aren’t vindictive, just a coward.”
He stepped back and his eyes widened, filling with fire. He teetered only a thumb’s breadth away from telling me off, then his shoulders slackened and a grin returned to his face. “Damn, you Taylors sure know how to push my buttons.”
“You got such big ones, and they are so darned shiny,” I said.
He took a few more sips of his beer and looked around. We both watched as Oliver grabbed Iris and spun her around the room, expertly landing her into the arms of a dark, much younger stranger. “I’m not a coward, Mercy, but folks around here, hell, folks in this room even, if they knew about me . . .”
“They’d what?” I said and slugged my fist into the rock that was his stomach. “Try to beat you up and take your milk money?”
“They’d lose respect for me. I’ve worked my entire life to become somebody in this town. To use my life as an example for others.”
I had no desire to argue that point. “You’re right. Some will lose respect for you. They’ll call you names. Laugh behind your back. I guess you aren’t a big enough man to handle that, huh?”
“That isn’t fair,” he said. His lips tightened, and he surveyed the room. I watched as he looked around the bar, examining every face, trying to decide how each would react to the gossip.
“No, I guess I’m not being fair. I don’t really understand what you’ve done to get to where you are. I don’t understand what you might have to face or what you might lose. But I do understand one thing.”
“And what is that?” He stopped scanning the crowd and fixed me in his gaze. The tempo of the music fell off a bit. A twin-fiddle waltz brought even some of the shyer folk in the room to their feet, pairing off two by two. It surprised me to see that Iris was still in the arms of her handsome stranger, and by the look on his face, he had no intention of letting go. Oliver had gone behind the bar to take over for Peter, and he was helping Colin fill pints and distribute shots of Jameson.
“That no matter how much he protests to the contrary, Oliver will spend the rest of his life waiting for you unless you do something about it.”
“So what do you propose I do?”
“Make up your mind. Either he’s worth the risk you’ll have to take or he isn’t. If he isn’t, tell him that, and make it clear so that he’ll finally move on. For real.”
“And if he is?”
“I think you can figure that out on your own.”
“That I can,” he said, and then drained the rest of his beer. “You’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.” I watched him as he weaved his way through the dancers and approached the bar. Oliver reached out to take Adam’s glass, but the detective shook his head and took Oliver’s hand. I had never seen my uncle look so completely shocked. His face went white and then flushed red, the goofiest smile possible growing on his face as Adam led him around the bar and took him into his arms. A hush descended on the guests as Adam started to move, but the music grew in enthusiasm if not pace as the two began waltzing.
From behind me I heard a loud snort, and then, “Well would you look at that.” Phil Jones, one of the hard-assed guys from the dock, started laughing so hard that he spilled his beer. I turned, ready to pounce and claw his eyes out. “Looks like Cook finally grew a pair,” he said, shaking the spilled beer off his hand.
“About time,” his buddy answered. “Listen, I got an early morning tomorrow. Do me a favor and say good-bye to Colin and Claire for me, okay?”
“Sure thing,” the other dockworker said. “Take it easy.” Noticing that I was watching them, he smiled and gave a quick wave before tottering off to replace his spilled drink.
Just goes to show, you never know, I thought, kicking off my shoes and wishing that Peter would put down his guitar and ask me to dance. As I watched him play, I did my best to will it to happen, without actually “willing” it to happen—I did have to take care with my newfound powers. That was when I felt someone’s stare on the nape of my neck. It settled there, burning me with its intensity. I turned to face Emmet, his dark glare pinning me, cutting me off from the rest of the crowd.
Without changing his expression, he approached me and held out his hand. “I’ve actually never danced before, but one of my makers teaches ballroom. Will you join me?”
“No,” I said, a tinge of regret coloring my refusal. I wanted to dance, but not with Emmet. It would be unfair to him, and without a doubt, Peter would see it as a betrayal. Besides, I knew Claire would not be happy to see him here, considering how close she’d come to punching him the last time he visited the bar. The waltz ended, and both the pace and the volume of the music jumped way up as the older folk returned to their seats or the bar.
“May I get you something to drink, then?”
“Listen, Emmet,” I shouted over the music, “it’s really nice of you to offer, and very sweet that you would come out tonight, but . . .”
“A little water, then?” He tilted his head and smiled. Any other woman in the place would have gladly been his in exchange for that smile.
A little flame lit up in me. I could use the water. “All right. Yes, thank you.”
Emmet managed to get himself served quickly, probably because he stood head and shoulders over the other patrons. I looked away and focused on the bandstand, on Peter, but from the corner of my eye, I saw Claire heading straight for Emmet from the kitchen. I couldn’t make out what she said to him over the din, but it didn’t take any magic powers to sense her agitation. She knocked the glass from his grip with the back of her hand, but he quickly reached out and caught it, snapping it up with the speed of a cat. I sighed. It looked like I’d have to put my shoes back on.
By the time I’d managed the task, Claire had guided Emmet to the door, following him out of the bar. I forced my way through the crush. “Pardon. Excuse me,” I called, bumping into people, knowing the band was playing too loudly for them to hear my apologies, but making them all the same. I opened the door, surprised to see that Claire had already led Emmet nearly a block away, the two of them too caught up in their conversation to notice my presence.
It had gone dark while we were inside the bar, and I trod carefully as I wobbled my way toward them. Even though Claire was whispering, her words became steadily clearer. “I am warning you.” Claire punctuated each word with a fisted blow to Emmet’s chest. “You stay away. I know who you are. I know what you are.” Emmet’s face remained inscrutable, even though Claire had cornered him under a streetlight. “When I gave my son over to the care of your people, I was promised that he’d have a good, long, healthy life. That I’d get to see him again before I died. And you sent him back a dried-up husk. You murdered him.” Her words came out in a hiss. “But you had better listen up, ’cause I will not tell you again. You aren’t getting Peter, and you sure as hell are not laying a hand on my grandbaby. I will see you and all your kind in hell first.” Emmet stayed silent, undoubtedly as much out of his laconic nature as his apparent confusion. He clearly had no idea what Claire was talking about. His silence infuriated her. She reached up and brought her nails to his cheek, clawing out five angry red gouges.
“Claire,” I said, coming up and pulling her hand away before she could strike him again. “What are you doing?”
“Stay where you are, Mercy. You don’t understand what’s going on here. You don’t know what this . . .” She hesitated and then settled on the word: “?‘Man’ is capable of.”
“I assure you, I’d never harm you or your family,” Emmet said, his hand touching his bloodied cheek. “I’d certainly never hurt Mercy.” He drew back his hand, looking at the blood on it like it was a curiosity. Pain, I realized, was a novel experience to him. He was a babe in the woods. In that moment, I felt responsible for him.
“Shut your mouth, you dark devil,” Claire sneered.
“Let me take you back to the bar,” I said, pulling her quivering body to me.
“Stay away from him, Mercy,” she said, her expression akin to that of a cornered and wounded animal.
“All right,” I said. My eyes met Emmet’s. He shook his head to indicate that he had no idea what was wrong with Claire, and I gave him a pointed nod. He understood the meaning: Make yourself scarce. “He’s leaving, and we should go back inside. We’ll get Colin and Peter, and we can talk all about—”
“No. Peter mustn’t know. You can’t tell him.”
“I won’t. I won’t say a word,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers. “We’ll get you inside, and I’ll tell Colin to take you upstairs until you feel better.”
Claire managed to pull herself together. “I’m sorry. I know I must look like a mad woman to you, but you have to listen to me. If you love that child in your womb, hear me. That man. Emmet. I know it sounds crazy, but he isn’t a man.”
“What do you think he is?” I asked cautiously. I had no idea what she believed him to be, but it disquieted me to hear her hitting so close to home.
“Just believe me. He’s . . . he’s something else. I’ve known his kind before, and now I know they are full of lies. I know why he came. They want Peter, and worse, I think they want little Colin.”
“No,” I said, trying to calm her. “Emmet is harmless. I don’t know what you think he is, but I assure you that you are wrong.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” I said, suspecting that learning Emmet had risen to life from a mound of Georgia dirt would push her completely over the edge.
“I love you, Mercy, like my own daughter, I do,” she said, reaching out and grasping my hand. “I’d trust you with my very life, but I am not willing to trust anyone’s judgment, even yours, when it comes to that baby you are carrying. I’m telling you. If I ever see Emmet near you again, I will find a way to kill him or at least make him wish he were dead. You hear me now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to calm her. I didn’t think it wise to point out to her at just that moment that Emmet was still living with us, and I couldn’t exactly send him away. I’d save that discussion for when she was thinking a bit more rationally. Great—another wrinkle in my already complicated life. Now in addition to finding my emotionally unbalanced sister, uncovering the truth about what had caused my mother to desert me, and, oh, having a baby, I’d have to find a way to protect Emmet from my future mother-in-law. “I do. I hear you. Now let’s get back inside and find Colin, okay?” She nodded and walked back into the bar with me.